:-NRLF 


IflS    502 


THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


UNIVERSITY 
CALIFORNIA 


ALUMNUS 
BOOK  FUND 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S 
JOURNAL. 


NEW   YORK: 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER    &   COMPANY. 
1870. 


ALUMNUS 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 


PART  I. 

MARRIED  six  weary  weeks  to-day ! 
How  sad  is  life  that  was  so  gay! 
How  desolate  the  street  appears — 

Alas,   that   I   must   live  in   it ! 
I   see   the   houses   through  my   tears, 

And  do  not  like  the   sight  one   bit ! 


How  can   I   pass   the   heavy  hours 
Without   my   darling  birds   and   flow'rs — 
A  scamper  on   the   lawn — a  ride — 

017 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL. 

With   other  girls    a   merry   chatter, 
Where   we   our   partners   can   deride, 
The   merits   of  our   dress   decide, 

And   settle   much   important   matter? 

A  comfortable  luncheon,  then 
Croquet,  or  archery ;  and  tea 

With  half  a  dozen  lively  men 

Who  come  to  laugh  and  flirt  with  me  ? 

O   life   was   sweet   and  beautiful! 

Its   pretty  pleasures   all   my   own  ; 
O   life  of  life  was  very  full, 

And  ev'ry  minute   lived   alone  ! 

And   ev'ry  minute   was   so   strong, 

It  brought   its   little   new-born   bliss, 

Sweeping  in   tender   light   along, 
Or  leaving  shadows   like  a  kiss. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

What  lent  its   glory   to   the   flow'r, 
And  gave   the   nightingale   her  pow'r, 
And  made   the   sky   so   very  blue  ? 
My   little   heart  could   it   be   you? 

My  little   heart,   why   did  you   beat 

As   if  delighted   to   be   me  ? 
O,   was   it  youth   that  was   so   sweet  ? 

Or  was   it  youth's   sweet  liberty? 

They  said  I  danced  when  I  should  walk 
(My  gay  feet  worked  my  gayer  will)  j 

They  said  I  laughed  when  I  should  talk, 
And  chattered  when  I  should  be  still. 


I'd  wake   with  laughing   in   the   night — 
Ah,   happy   nights    I    can't   forget  ! — 

I'd   catch   my   dreams,    they   were   so   bright, 
And  find  my   thoughts   were   brighter  yet. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

I'd   wink   my   little   eyes   and   peep, 

With   slumber   waging   weary  strife  ; — 

It  seemed   so   hard   to  be   asleep 

And  lose   the   smallest   bit   of  life  ! 

Of  life  that   moved  with   airy   sway, 
Like   singing   music — making   play 
Like   wavelets  dancing  on  the   sea 
In   even  measures — all   for  me  ! 

And  when   the   sun  illumed  the   dark, 
I'd   sing   good   morning   to   the   sky, 

And  wake   the   little   lazy   lark, 
And  curtsey  to   the   butterfly. 

O,  sweet  to  flutter  'mid  the  grass, 

In  charming  dews  the  wise  condemn, 

And  when  the  busy  swallows  pass 
To  nod  my  friendly  head  at  them ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

It   did   the   little   squirrels   good 
To   see   a   thing  as   gay   as   I, 

When   I   came   running   through   the   wood 
To   hide   from   the   delighted   sky; 

The   quaint   old   cuckoo   said  his   say, 
I   mock'd  him   with   my   artful   word; 

I   think   he  knows   not   to   this    day 
Whether    I  am   a  girl   or  bird ! 

'Twas   l  cuckoo,   cuckoo,    cuckoo,'   he ; 

And   *  cuckoo,   cuckoo,   cuckoo,'   I ; — 
It  was   the   grandest   sight   to   see 

That  puzzled   cuckoo   round   me  fly ! 

In   ev'ry  bird   I   found   a   friend — 

A   confidante   in   ev'ry  leaf ; 
The   little  breezes   would   attend, 

The   robins   knew   I   was   their   chief. 


io  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S    *OURNAL. 

The   good   old   trees   would   ruffle   so, 
In   stately  gossip,   when   I   came  ;* 

The  grass   that  kissed   my  feet,   1   know, 
Kissed   no  one   else's   quite  the   same. 

Life   was   a   most  triumphant  fact! — 
What   could   my  ecstasy  destroy  ? 

I   did   not  care   to   think  or   act — 
Just   to   be   living  was   a  joy ! 

0  lovely  earth  !    O   lovely  sky ! 

1  was   in   love   with   nature,    I; 

And   nature   was   in   love   with   me  ; — 
O,   lovely   life— when   I   was   free! 

And   then   I'd   spread   my   shining   wings, 
And   fly   away   without   a   care 

To   those   bewitching   balls   and   things 
Where    I  discovered   I   was   fair. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  n 

And  when  I  found  how  fair   I   am, 

I   felt   a  new   delight   in   life, 
Nor  guessed   that   Mr.   Jerningham 

Had   asked   me   from   Papa   as   wife. 

How  vexed   I   was  when   I   was   told ! 

I   hardly   could   my  patience   keep  ; 
And   then    Papa   began   to   scold, 

And   then   poor  I   began   to   weep. 

But   one   thing's   pleasant,    I  confess  ; 

Marriage   a  trousseau   doth   entail ; 
I   had   to   choose    a   sat;n    dress, 

And    was   allowed    to   wear   a   veil ! 

The  wedding   day   came   all   too   soon — 
I'd   rather   it   had   not   been    mine — 

But   still    I    liked   the    Honeymoon 
At   Paris    and   the   pretty    Rhine. 


12  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

And   now   I've   not   a   thing  to   do, 
And   nobody   to    say   a   word; 

I've  got  to   keep   my  house,   'tis   true, — 
/  keep   a  house  ! — it's   too   absurd  ! 


She's   such   a  clever   woman,    Cook, 

I   heartily   dislike   her   look ; 

She   really   seems   to   fancy   I 

Know   nothing   useful   'neath   the   sky, 

And  with  her  stuck-up   chin   and   head 

Her   silence   is   a  thing  to   dread! 

And   then   when  she   begins   to    speak, 

She   asks   such   dreadful   questions— O ! 
How   many   quarts   of  milk   a   week 

Shall   I   require  ?    how  should  I   know ! 
And   what  may   be   the   price   of  coals  ? 

How  many   tons   will   be   enough  ? 
Shall    she    take    quartern   loaves,    or   rolls  ? 

And   do   I    want   the   kitchen   stuff? 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  13 

I've   ordered  dinner — 'tis   a  fact 
That   I   was   frightened   at  the   act ! 
Says   I,  '  A   leg  of  lamb  you'll  get,' 
Says   she,  'It's  not  in  season   yet;' 
So   turning  somewhere   for  relief, 
I   said,  'Then  get   a  leg  of  beef:' 
She   look'd  so   keenly  in  my  face 
She  made  me   feel   the  whole  disgrace, 
And   so    I    cried,  'Get   anything,' 
And  ran  upstairs   to  play   and   sing  : — 
I   hope  we'll   have  some  dinner,   though, 
Or  John   may  be  displeased,   you  know. 


Why  did   they   make  me   marry  him? 

Life   was  so   bright   and   is  so  dim ! 

I   cannot   understand   why   men 

Should   stop   their  growth   at  five   feet  ten; 

I   meant   my  husband   to   be   tall, — 

Short  men   have  such   a   shabby   look, — 


14  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

And   then   his   nose   is   rather   small, 
Without   a   notion   of  a  hook. 

I   wish   he   was   a  barrister, 
Then  he   could   talk   and  cause  a  stir, 
And    wear   a  lovely  curly  wig, 
To   make   his   face   look   brown   and   big; 
A    captain  in    a   uniform 
Might   take   a   woman's    heart   by   storm; 
And   sailors   are   the   best   of  all, 
Such   charming   partners    at  a  ball  : 
But    just   a  banker— don't  you   see, 

It   is   so   very   tame    and   flat- 
Why  did  he   want  to   marry  me  ? 
How  tould  Papa  consent   to   that? 

John   Jerningham's   a  horrid   name! 
Alas !   my  cards  must  bear  the   same  I 

I    do   not   think  that   it   is  wise 

Young  men  should  be  so  spick   and  span  • 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

John   is   so  dreadfully  precise, 

He   ought  to  be  a  clergyman! 
He  says   I  am  untidy — he 

Dislikes  to   see  a   hair   astray, 
And   everything   I   use,   you   see, 

He   thinks   I   ought   to   put  away. 
He  will   not  let  me   walk  alone, 

Studies   he   likes  me   still   to   con — 
O,  how   I   wish   I  was  my  own, 

And   never  had  belonged  to   John ! 


At  breakfast  it  is   rather   nice — 

Making   the  tea   is   like  a  play; 
Only  he  gives   me  good  advice, 

And  tells   me  how  to  spend  the  day. 
At  ten  he  goes — always   at  ten, 
The  most  precise   of  business   men : 
At   six   I   know  he   will  return, 
But  rather  stiff  and   taciturn, 


16  MRS.  JERNTNGHAATS  JOURNAL. 

Till   dinner  makes  him   kind   and  good 

I   think   men  look   a  little   small, 

They  do  depend   so   much   on   food, 
While   we   need  hardly  dine   at   all! 

The  dinner  over,   as   I  rise, 

He,    leaning  in  his   easy   chair, 
Regards  me   with   approving  eyes, 

Saying  my   muslin   dress   is   fair. 
But   if  he   wants   to  kiss    me,   then 
(Another  tiresome  way  with  men) 
I   pout — because   it  is   no  joke 
Saluting  lips  perfumed   with   smoke. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  17 


To-night  we're  going   to   a  ball ; 

John   says    I   must   not   dance   too   much — 
John   says    I    must   not   waltz   at   all — 

He   thinks   men   murder   with  their  touch  1 


At  least   I   have   a   lovely   dress, 

And   when   my   hair   is   frizzled   dry, 
Done  in   a   fashionable   mess, 

It's   quite   the   thing— and   so   am   II 
I've   got   a   charming   little   waist, 

And   I   can  make   it   smaller  yet  ; 
John   hates   to   see   me   tightly  laced, 

But  now   and   then   I   must   forget ! 


IS  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

My   skirt   is   gored   delightfully, 
With   train    so   skilfully   design'd, 

It   floats   away  three   yards   from   me, 
While   I   sail   on   nor   look   behind. 

Well — it   is   over — let   it  go — 

When   I   was   ready  for  the   ball, 
John    said   my   dress    was   cut   too   low, 

And   talked   about   a   horrid   shawl. 
I   felt   that    I    should   like   to   cry, 

So   down    I    sat   and   tried   to   pout; 
John   fixed   me   with   his    steady  eye, 

And  said   I   should   not  go   without. 
Most  kindly  he   remarked,    '  You   know 
There's   no   occasion  you  should  go  ! ' 
And   then   he   gave   a   little   laugh, 
And  fetched   me   my   Chantilly  scarf. 

My  robe  was  of  another  lace, 

And   as   he  wrapped   my   shoulders   round, 


MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL.  19 

I   thought   if  he   but   turned  his   face, 
I'd    dash   the   thing   upon   the   ground. 

The   room   was   splendid — hung   with   flags, 

And   flow'rs   as   bright   as   they   were   sweet, 
And   all   the   ladies   dressed   in   bags 

Straight  from   their   waists   down  to   their  feet 
Fixed   on   John's   arm,    I   moved    about, 

And   thought   he   might   be   more    alert, 
And   wished   some   man   would   take   me   out, 

That   I   once   more   might   dance   and  flirt 

The   moonlight   through   the    window   came 

(I   wonder   if  it   likes   a  ball), 
And   laid   itself  in   silver   flame 

Across   the   floor   and   up   the     wall : 
The  dancers   did   not   pause    or   start, 

Affrighted    at   its   beauty   sweet; 
I   think   the   girl   can   have   no   heart 

Who   treads   the   moonlight  'neath   her   feet! 
2 


20  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

Invited   by   my   host    Sir   James, 

I   helped   to   form    a   prim    quadrille. 
He  gaily   told   the   people's   names, 

And   why   some  danced   and   some   sat  still. 
To   Lady   Graeme  John   took   me   then, 

And   said,    Til   leave   you   safely   here: 
I'm  wanted   by  some   other  men 

To  play  a  little   rubber,   dear!' 
I  did   not  tell   him   I   was   glad 

(I   wonder   if  I   was    or   no !) 
Would   he   have   minded   if  I   had  ? 

I   thought   it   cool   of  him    to   go, 
So  talked   and  laughed  with   Lady  Graeme 

A  pretty   woman,   kind    and  gay; 
And   she  politely  did  the   same, 

And   so   the   moments   slid   away. 

Up  came   a   man   I   liked   to   see 
Extremely — for  he   look'd   at  me. 
Just  six  feet  two   (delightful   height), 
With   lazy   eyes  and  classic   nose, 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  21 

And   teeth   that  flashed,   they  were   so   white, 

And   air  of  indolent  repose, 
And  trailing  whiskers,   rather  red, 
But   quite   brown   hair   upon   his   head. 
He   sauntered   up   with   languid   air, 

To   Lady   Graeme   he   murmured   low, 
1  Aw — real-ly — aw — I   don't   much   care— 

Aw — introduce   me — don't  you  know?' 
And   with   a  glance  politely   free, 
Just  with  his  eyebrows  signed   at  me. 


The  waltz   is   forming — off  we   go — 

How   could   I   think  of  John's   desire? 
He   danced   divinely — to   and   fro, 

We   whirl   away   and  never  tire. 
The   stately  frizzle   of  my  hair 

Just  hung  about  a  little  bit. 
My  scarf?     I'd  left  it  on   a  chair, 

I'm  sure   I  had  no   need  of  it — 


22  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

Reflected   from   the   shining  glass, 
I   saw   our   charming   figures   pass, 
And   must   confess   I   thought  we   were 
A  most  distingue-looking  pair. 

Enraptured   at   the   rapid   flight, 
My  heart   leapt  up   with  new   delight, 
And   sparkled   in   my   lips   and   eyes, 
And   flushed  my   cheek   with   rosy   dyes. 
Gay   words   and   gayer   laughter   sprang, 
As  round   and  round   we   lightly   swang. 
When  in  came  John !    appalling  sight ! 

Ah,   John,   you   should   have   stayed   away 
Is  it  the   moonlight   makes   you   white? 

Or  is   it  passion   kept   at  bay  ? 

The   naughty   spirit   seized  me   then, 
Which  makes  us  women  tease  the  men. 
As  John   stood   scowling  in   the   door, 
I    danced   more   wildly  than  before. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  23 

The   music   ceased,   so   cease   we   must, 
My   partner   bent   and   whispered   praise, 

John   saw   how   he    admir'd,   I    trust— 
He  ne'er   look'd   so    in    all   his    days. 


The   roses   on   the  window  lay, 

And   almost   touch'd   me    as    I    stood. 
They  were   as   good   as   they  were   gay, 

Alas !    I   felt   more   gay   than   good ! 
Roses   are  very  beautiful, 

And   innocent,   and   sure   to    please: 
But  even  roses  would  be   dull 

WiJiout   their  butterflies   and  bees! 


Quite   cool    and   pleasant,   John   came   up, 
Offered   his   arm,   and   said   'twas   late. 

<I    will   not  go   before    I    sup.' 

'You   must,'   he   cried,   'the   horses   wait.' 


24  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

He  held   himself  extremely  high  : 

I   did   not   like   his   looks    by   half, 
I   think   I'd   have   begun   to   cry, 

Only   I   felt   inclin'd   to   laugh ! 
He   wrapp'd   me   in   the   cloaking  room, 
With   air  of  most   portentous  gloom ; 
No   carriage   waiting   in   the    street, 

He   called   a  cab,    and   off  we  went; 
I   kept   on   dancing   with   my  feet, 

And  felt   too   lively  to   repent. 

Arrived   at   home,   he  paid   the  fare, 
In   silence   led   me   to   my  room, 

In  silence   placed   me   in   a   chair, 

Then   stood   erect   to   speak   my   doom — 

Saying   in   voice   with   anger   fraught, 

(l   told   you   not    to   waltz,    I   thought.' 

My   spirit   rose   at   being   chid — 

And   leaning   languid   in   my   chair 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  25 

I   answered,   '  Did  you  ? — so  you   did — 
It's   late,   I   think — I'll   brush  my  hair.' 

0  John!   you  frowned  with  such   a  frown, 

1  almost  thought  you'd  knock  me   down, 
And  felt  excited,   pleased,   and  vext, 
Wondering  what  was   coming  next. 

Silent  he   stood — in   silence   looked — 
And  tho'   my  wrath   I   nursed   and  cooked, 
It  gave   my  heart   a  little   turn, 
That  silence   was   so    strangely   stern. 

Then   with  reproachful   solemn  face 
He   sat  him   in   my  writing  place, 
And   took   my   paper,   pen   and   ink — 
Well,   John,    that's   rather   cool,    I   think! 
And   so   he  wrote   and  wrote   and  wrote — 

And   I    my   ringlets   brush   and   plait, 
As  he   does  up   each  tiny   note, 

I   wonder   what  he   means  by   that! 


26  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

He   rings   the  bell,   and   Fanny  knocks — 
'  Three   letters   for   the   letter-box ! ' 
Then   turns   to   me   with   tranquil   air — 

'The   summer-night  has   met   the   day, 
You   must  have   finish'd   with   your   hair  : 

But   I   have   something   still   to   say : 
I   shall   not  take   you   out   at   all 
This   spring   to   any   other   ball. 
I've   written   notes   to   Mrs.    Payne, 
To   Lady   Vaux   and   Colonel   Vane, 
Explaining   that   we   cannot   go.' 
'  Oh   John !    you   never   have   done   so  I ' 
'Of   course   I   have!'   his   eyes   flash   light; 

'My   wife   to   waltz   I   do   not   choose: 
I've   learned   the   task   she   taught   to-night, 

Another  lesson   I   refuse/ 

'  Oh   John  !    you   know — I  never   meant ' — 
'It   is   too   late,'   he   said,    and   went. 
And   I,   undrest,   began   to   weep, 
And   fairly   cried   myself  to    sleep. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  27 


We  met   at  breakfast — hard   and   cold 

Was  John — and   I    was   dignified — 
I   thought   it   was   not   right   to   scold 

And   then   shut  up   a   six  weeks'   bride  1 
I   read   my   letters,   he   the   news, 

Calmly   I   handed   him   his   tea, 
And  his   politeness   can't  refuse 

To   cut   a   slice    of  ham   for  me. 
And   now   and   then   a   look   I    slid 

Out  of  the   corner  of  my   eyes  j 
But  glance   at  me,   not  once   I   did 

From    this   philosopher  surprise, 
And  then   I   sighed — a  little   loud, 

And   then   I   rattled   with   my   cup, 
But  John   read   on   serene   and   proud, 

And   never  once — not  once — looked  up  1 


28  MRS.  JERNINGHAbTS  JOURNAL. 

He   does   not   love  me !— whence   the   thought, 
Or   why   it   came — or   how   it   fell — 

Or   if  I    cared — or   what   I    sought — 
Or  false   or   true   I   cannot  tell. 

He  rose  at  ten  to  say  good-bye, 
I  said  it  too — I  think  he  sigh'd  j 

There  was  a  trouble  in  his  eye, 
And  I  again  felt  dignified! 

O  dreary,  dreary  drawing-room, 

Where  never  merry  sound  is  heard — 

O  little  chamber  full  of  gloom, 
The  cage  of  a  reluctant  bird ! 

There   is   a  shadow   in   the   street  : 
There   is   a   shadow   on    my   heart. 

O   sky   and   grass   you   are   so   sweet : 
O   London   house   how   sad   thou    art ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  29 

I   feel   the   outer  shadow   creep 

To  meet   the   shadow   in   my  breast, 

And   shut   my   eyes   or   I   should  weep 
With   such   a  weary   sense   of  rest. 

0  could   I   stand  beneath  the   sky, 
With   sh'ning   grass    about   my   feet, 

And   catch   one   bright  blue   butterfly: 
I   think  that  life   would  be  too  sweet! 

The   shadows   darken   as   I   sit 

Around  this   home   that  is   my  own: 

1  feel   a  sudden   fear   of  it, 

I   am   so   lonely   and   alone. 

How  wearily  the  hours  pass  by, 

And  yet  the   day  is  beautiful. 
O   was  he   sorry?    did  he   sigh? 

O   I   am   young,  and   life  is   dull ! 


30  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

It  is  no   use   that  John   should   talk, 

How   can   I  stay  at   home   all  day? 
My  head   aches — I   must  take   a   walk, 

What  harm   can    happen   on   the  way? 
Through  half  a  dozen   streets   I  run; 

All   nicely   dressed:   free   as    the   air: 
Free    as   the   wind :    gay    as   the   sun : 

If  John   is   cross   I   will   not  care ! 


I   enter  on   a   lovely   lawn, 

Where   trees   a  happy   shadow  made; 
I   ask  the   name — almost   in   scorn, 

"Tis  Kensington,'   the   woman  said. 


O   lovely  lawn   of  Kensington, 

How  very  good   and   kind   thou   art, 

To   put   such  radiant   colors   on, 

To  please   one   little   longing  heart! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  31 

Fair  is  the   life   by  any   led, 

That  holds   no   brighter  joy   than   this, 
The  pleasant  sky   above   the  head, 

And  daisy  buds   the   feet  to   kiss. 

Who  do   I  see  beneath  the  trees  ? — 

Unless   my  vision   plays   me   false, 

That   charming  fellow   sure   to   please — 

My   partner  in  that   wicked   valse ! 

0  garden   full   of  new   delight ! — 

He   says   gay   words ;    I  make   replies  j 

1  know   he   is   enchanted   quite, 

And   he   admires   me   with   his   eyes : 
We   walk,   we   sit,   we   sit,   we   walk — 

O   happy   chance   that  brought  us   there! 
How   I    enjoy   his    sprightly   talk 

And   knowledge   that  he   thinks  me   fair! 
He   slyly  hints   with   half  a   smile 

At  how   I   vanished   from   the  ball, 


32  MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL. 

And   lets   me   understand   the   while 

That  when   /  went,  joy  went  from   all  i 
He's   not   a   thing  to   do,   I   see, 

But   talk   to   me   'neath   summer  sky; 
The   hours   pass   on,   and   so   do   we, — 

If  he  is  happy,   so   am   I. 
I'm  flirting  just   a  little   bit — 

But  flirting  keeps   a  girl   alive : 
I   turn  my   watch   and   look   at  it — 

I   almost   scream — 'tis   half-past  five  ! 


I  go  in  haste — he   sees   me  home  j 

I   beg  him   not — he   says  he  will  : 
I'm   so   afraid   lest  John   should   come ; 

The   terror   almost  makes   me   ill. 
When   Westbourne   Terrace   is   in   sight 

I   stop   him   firmly,   once   for   all, 
To   persevere   he's   too   polite, 

But  begs   to   be   allowed  to  call : 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  33 

I   faintly  murmur,   '  Number   eight'  ; 

He   shakes   my  hand   with   tender   touch, 
And   laughing  cries,    'I   see   you're  late — 

I   fear  the   husband   scolds   too   much ! ' 

0  grand   escape  !    I'm   barely   in 

When  John   comes   knocking  to   the   door; 

1  feel   as   if  I'd   sinned   a  sin, 

I   never  felt   so   strange  before. 

At  dinner  John   is   solemn   still ; 

I'm   too   excited  far   to   eat, 
But  John  would   eat   or  well   or  ill 

(Men  never   seem   to   turn  from  meat, 
Their   dinner  never   comes   amiss). 

When   to   the   drawing-room   I  go 
He   does   not   ask  me   for   a   kiss — 

He   does   not  care   for  me,  I   know ! 
How   can   I   tell   him   that   I   did 
The  very  thing  he   most  forbid  ? — 


34  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

I    think   he'll   kill   me  ;    but   I'll   try, 
I   hope   I   could   not   act   a  lie. 


In   stately  pride   our  tea  we   drink, 

Now  is   the   time   to   speak,   I   think ; 

But  John   speaks   first,   'Pray,   have   you  read 

The  book   I   marked   for  you  ?'    he   said. 

*  I  ?    no  ;    I    never   opened   it  • 

You   spend   your   time    as   you   think   fit.' 

Grimly  he   answered,   '  Will   you   play 

The   symphony   you    learned   to-day  ?' 

'  I    did   not   learn   one.'     '  Ah,   indeed, 

You   did   not   care    to   play   or   read ; 

What   did  you   do?'    What   could  I   say? 

Tell   him   the   truth   I   never  can, 
Which   is — I   walked  about   all    day 

With   an   extremely  pleasant  man ! 
And   so    I   murmur,    '  Many   things,' 
And   from   my   fingers   pull    the   rings. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  35 

John  looks   at   me,  I   look   at  him — 
His  eye  is   stern,   and   mine   is   dim : 
He   takes   a  book — some  pamphlet  light, 
Nor  says   another  word   that  night. 


36  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 


He  called  to-day — sent  up  two  cards ; 

For  the  first  time   I  learned   his   name — 
Arthur  Fitzmaurice,    of  the   Guards  : 

O   how   I   wish   John's   was   the   same ! 
I   thought   I    must   not  let   him   in — 
Visits   from   men   John   holds  a   sin, 
Unless   he's   present  when   they   call, 
To   make  the   talk  political : 
But  just  as  'Not   at  home/  I   cry, 
His   entrance   is   his   sole  reply — 
So   easy,  smiling,  tall,    and   gay, 
I'm   charmed  he   did  not  go  away. 

I   chatter  like   a  merry  girl; 

He  talks   of  half  a   hundred   things — 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  37 

Of  how  to   wear  the  latest  curl, 

Of  how   divinely  Nilsson   sings, 
Of  how  the  Prince  upon   the   Nile 
Has  bravely   bagged  his   crocodile, 
While   Ministers  will  hardly  dare 
To  bag  a  paltry   Irish  mare; 
Of  how  no  fellow  in  the  land 
Would  undertake  to  understand 
Or  for  the  hidden   meanings  look 
That  give  its   weight  to  Browning's   'Book/ 
While  beauties  stare  him  in  the  face 
In  every  line  of  'Lady   Grace/ 
And   'tis   a  work  of  love   alone 
To  make  those  beauties   all   his  own. 


Each  little  word   is   slyly  meant 

To  introduce   a  compliment, 

And   show   (although  he   does  not  stare) 

He   thinks  me  pretty,   nice,   and   fair, — 


38  MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL. 

Just  in   the  way   some   people   can — 
The   way   that  makes   a  pleasant  man ! 

Ah,   as   we   speak   the   present  flies, 
And   forms   the   past  before   our   eyes ! 
With  half  a  smile   and   half  a  sigh, 
So   earnest  is   his  last  good-bye, 
That  Juliet's   words   I   could   repeat, 
And   own   the  pain   of  parting   sweet. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  39 


A   fortnight   since   a  word   I   writ! 

Each    day   was   beautiful    and   kind, 
But,   somehow,   when   I'd   done   with  it 

It   left   a   little   sting  behind. 

I   can't  believe  that   they   are   wrong — 
The   converse   sweet   and   merry  walk : 

Why  should   I    have  my   legs   and   tongue 
If  'tis   a   sin    to   run    and   talk? 

I    wish    I'd   let   John   truly   know, 

But   then  the   meetings   he'd  forbid, 

And   shut  me  up  and   scold  me   so, 
And   be    annoyed    at   all   I    did. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMTS  JOURNAL. 

If  Arthur  was   my  husband,    then 
I'd   never  talk  with  other   men, 
A   tete-ci-tete  with  him  would  be 
The   most  enchanting  chat  for  me — 
He  is   so  charming   and  refined, 
And   all   I  say  he   seems   to   mind; 
So   'tis   not   that   I   could   not    prove 
Good   wife  to  husband  that  I   love; 
But  that  my  husband's   not  the   one 
I   can  like  best  beneath   the   sun. 
Why,   since   the   evening  of  the   ball 
He   hardly   spoke   to   me   at   all 
Until   last  night,    all   suddenly, 
He   sat  him   down   and   lectured   me  : 
He   call'd   me   headstrong,   giddy,   wild, 
And   chid   me   like   a   naughty   child, 
Then   spoke   of  meekness,   patience,   faith, 
The   woman   he   could   love  till   death, 
*  The   perfect   woman,    nobly   planned, 
To    warn,   to   comfort,    and   command.' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  41 

' Pm  ready   to   command,'   I   said; 
And  then   I   cried   and   hung  my  head : 
He   asked   me   did   I   love   him?    what 
Could  I   reply  ? — I   answered   not ! 
And  then  he   stared   in   sudden  gloom, 
And   stalked   about  and   left  the  room. 


Why   did  he   marry    me?    I   see 
He  does   not  care   a  bit*  for  me ! 
Ah,   if  he   did,   he   would   not   scold, 
Nor  wish   me   to  be   dull   and  old; 
His   happy   love   would   gild   my  days 
With   glances   fond   and   tender   praise; — 
A  petted   Queen,   I'd   shine   on  all, 
And   then — ah,  me  ! — I'd   give   a  ball : 
I    softly   ask'd   him   if  I   might 

(By   Arthur's   generous   advice) ; 
His   answer   was   uncivil   quite — 

O   John,   your   manners   are  not  nice  1 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL, 

And   Arthur   says   men   should   not   reign, 
That   is   the   woman's   place,    'tis   plain; 
And   Arthur   says   such  eyes   as  mine 

Would   change   to   day  the   darkest   night, 
And   those   who   think  such   eyes   divine 

Are   those   for  whom   they   wear  their  light. 

To   lock  the   sunlight  in   a  room, 

Trying   to   make   it   shine   by   rule, 
And  keep  the   outer  world   in   gloom, 

Would  be  the   action   of  a  fool; 
And   he   who'd   shut   me  up   alone, 

Nor  let  me   fling   about  my  rays, 
But  keep   me   only  for  his   own 

Is  just   as   silly,  Arthur  says. 

You  plant   a   lily  in   a   cave — 

Poor,    pretty   thing,    it   can   but    die; 

You   would  enchain   the   ocean   wave — 
It  dares  you   as   it  dances   by  I 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  43 

It  mocks  you   with  its  ceaseless  foam, 

Your  dripping  heads   you  fain  would   free, 

And  little  laughters  slyly   come 

For  him  who   would   enchain  the   sea. 

And   I   must  gently   fade  away, 
And   like   the   lily  end   my   days, 

Or  like   the   waves  be   brave   and  gay, 
And   spurn  my  fetters,   Arthur   says. 


44  MRS.  JERNINGHAhPS  JOURNAL. 


And   day  by  day   the   days   glide   on, 
And  I   glide   on   and   cannot   stay; 

I   wonder   if  the   busy  sun 

Is   tired  of  always   making  day! 

Weary  with   an  excess   of  light, 

I   think  he  holds   the   dark   a  boon; 

I   think  he'd   like   to   see   the   night, 
And  would   enjoy   to   be   the   moon ! 

O   change,   I   hold  you  best   of  all; 

Nothing   is   good   that   must   remain ; 
Vanish   my   street — my  houses  fall, 

And   let   me  be  a  girl   again  ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  45 


To-night  we   dined   with   Lady   Graeme  j 
I   wore   my  skyblue   silk — the   same 
At  Mrs.   Payne's   I'd  meant  to   wear, 
Had   John   allowed   me   to   be   there. 
Fanny   my  hair   did  well   enough, 
Over   a  most  triumphant  puff. 
It  rose   a  yard   above   my  head, 
Crowned  by   a  wreath  of  roses   red. 


Sir  James,   goodhumored,   frank,   and  gay, 
Received   us   in   his   pleasant   way, 
And   cried   'At  half  a  dozen  balls, 

And   all   in   vain,  I've   sought  your  face : 
Believe   me,   in  those  garnished  halls 

None   shone   with   such   a   saucy   grace — 
Alas,   why   do   you   stay   away  ? 
Youth  is   the   time   to   make   your  play.' 


4.6  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

I   answer'd   coolly,    'Yes— 'tis   so— 

My   husband   will   not   let   me  go, 

All   invitations   he's    refused.' 

John  blushed   at  that,   and   looked   confused, 

But  I   was  glad  that  he   should   see 

His   dear   Sir   James  thought  much   of  me. 

'Twas   a   large   party— we  were   late! 

Sir  James   said,  '  Ring  the   dinner  bell 
For   one   young   man   we   will   not   wait. 

Arthur's   a  most  uncertain   swell.' 
The   door   flew  open   as   he   spoke — 

'Captain  Fitzmaurice'   said   the   man, 
I   almost   thought  it  was   a  joke, 

And  little   shivers   through   me   ran. 

I  bit   my   lips    and  sat   upright; 

I   blushed   and   felt   extremely  hot ; 
He   bowed   to   me   with   air  polite, 

Looking  as   if  he   saw   me   not 

Nodded   at  others,   smiled   to   some, 

And   said,    'Aw— aw— I'm   glad   I've   come!1 


MRS.  JERNINGHAIVTS  JOURNAL. 

When  good   Sir  James,   as  bridal   guest, 
Politely  gave   his   arm   to   me, 

I   thought  that  he   must  be   in  jest; 
For   I    forgot   my   dignity. 

It  seemed  so   strange   that   I   should  go 

Heading  the   grand   procession  so. 

The   table   was   extremely  gay 

With   little   heaps    of  fruit   and   flow'rs, 
And   all   the   dinner   hid   away, 

And   eating  it  took   two   good   hours. 
Arthur   sat   opposite   to   me, 
And   never   seemed   my    face   to   see ; 
Asking   the   lady   at   his   side, 
*  Aw — really — is   that  girl   a   bride  ? ' 

I   thought  it  wrong   to  make   pretence 
With   such   a  show   of  innocence, 
And   something  whispered  very  low. 
John  never  would  have   acted   so! 


\  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

The   ladies  to   the   drawing-room  go, 

Tis   deadly  lively  there,    I  own ; 
Why  is   it   so   extremely   slow, 

When  women  find   themselves  alone  ? 
We   sit   about   and   mildly   chat, 

Each  sips   and   stirs   her  coffee   cup  ; 
But  conversation's   rather  flat, 

We   want   the   men   to   brisk   us   up. 

They  come,   and   round   my   chair  they  crowd, 

My   spirits   rise,    my   heart   is   free ; 
Some   murmur  low,   some  chatter   loud; 

And   all   that's   said   is   said   to   me. 
I   bandy   repartee   and   wit, 

With  smiles   their   nonsense    I   reward, 
Whatever's   said   I  answer  it, 

And   all   I   say  the  men    applaud ! 

John  stands   and   talks   to   Lady   Grceme, 
Unsympathetic,   calm,   and   cool ; 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  49 

But  then   John   always   is   the    same, 
To   care  for  that  I'd   be   a   fool. 

But   Arthur   gnaws   his  handsome   lip, 
And   looks   with  thunder   in   his   eyes ; 

While   careless   I   my   coffee   sip, 
Smiling  in   innocent   surprise ! 

Tis   charming   to   attract   and   please, 
But   still   more   sweet   it  is   to   tease. 


Ah  !   he    approaches — listlessly — 

Dropping   a   sentence  here   and   there — 
Looking  at  prints   he   does   not   see — 

Pretending  not   to   see  my   chair — 
Stopping  a  moment  to   address 

Some  one   he   hardly   saw  or  knew. 
— I   know  that  manner  purposeless, 

That   always   has   an   end   in  view ! 


50  MAS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

He   leaned  upon   my   chair   and   said, 
'When   shall   we   have    another   valse?' 

His   whiskers   almost   touch   my   head— 
I'm  glad   my  chignon   was   not  false! 

I   try  to   speak,    but   I   am   dumb! 

'Tis   this   concealment   makes   me   shy- 
Instead   of  words,   hot  blushes   come ; 

Arthur  may   triumph   now— not   I! 

Softly   my   drooping  glance    I   raise, 
To   meet   Sir   James's   wond'ring   gaze! 
All   out   of  countenance   I   rise; 

I   know   not  what   I   say  or   do— 
There's   such   amazement   in   his   eyes, 

And   something   like   reproval   too  ! 

Where   is   my   self-possession  ?     O  ! 

I   should   not   have  jumped   up    like   this! 
(I   wish    I   was    unmarried   tho'; 

Then   flirting   never   came   amiss) ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

'Sit  down,'   said   Arthur  in   my   ear, 
And   down   I   sat   abashed   and   weak; 

I   wish   I   had   not   felt  that   fear — 
I   wish   I'd   had   the   wit   to   speak ! 

Uncounted  thoughts   come   rushing  in, 
My   self-approval   to   destroy ; 

And   every  thought   is   like   a   sin, 
And   every   sin   is   like    a  joy. 

Deceit  is   such   an  ugly  word — 
I   did   not   utter   the   untrue — 

John's   strictness   really   is   absurd; 

0  John,   the   fault   is   all   with  you! 
Life   is   so   innocent   and   sweet, 

1  must   be   happy,    and    I   will ! 
My  youth  is   lying   at   my  feet ; 

Can   I   the   radiant   creature   kill? 
Must   I   blot   out   the   perfect   sun  ? 

Fling   the   unopen'd   buds    away? 
Nor   let   the   silver   river   run  ? 

My  heart  leaps   up   and   will  be   gay. 
4 


52  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

My  life   is   such   a   lovely  game, 

It   charms   me   ere   I   understand, 
With   little  joys,   like   birds,    so   tame, 

They   come   a-flying  to   my   hand. 
Why   am   I   shamefaced   and  perplexed? 

And   why   is   John   so    cross    and   grave? 
And   why   with   Arthur   am    I    vexed  ? 

Why   am   I    not    serenely   brave  ? 

Then   Arthur  whispered,   '  How  you  blush ! ' 
I    answered    angrily,    '  Don't   talk — 

You   must   not   call    again — and — hush — 
I'll   never   meet  you    when   I   walk.' 

1  Alas!'   he   cried,    'but   then — 'tis    true — 

You   can't  prevent  my  meeting  you  I ' 

I   tried   to   look   a   little   grim, 

But   down   he   sat   and   rattled   on ; 

My   ready   laughter   answered   him; 

My   fears   are   fled — my  grief  is   gone. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  53 

He   talked   in   such   a   pleasant   strain, 
With  tones   so   soft  and  wit   so  bright, 

I   was   my   merry   self    again, 

And   quite   forgot  my  foolish  fright. 


I   wore   a   rosebud   in   my   dress, 

He  vowed  for   him   that  bud   should   shine, 
(Just   fancy   John   in   such   distress 

For   anything  because   'tis   mine !) 
I   held   the   rosebud   in   the   air, 

And   uttered   half  a   dozen   noes. 
He   said   than   me   it   was   less   fair ; 

I   told  him   that   MY   name   was   Rose. 
He   caught   my   hand — he    snatched   the   flower, 

Kissed   it,    and    laid   it   'neath   his   vest, 
Saying   that   from   that   happy   hour 

He'd    always   love   the   roses   best. 
The   million   stars   that   deck   the    skies 
Have   no   such   meaning   for   his   eyes, 


54  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

Nor  priceless   gems   such  joy  impart 
As   one   small   rosebud   on   his   heart. 

Sir  James   approached   me  very  grave, 

Enquired   coldly,   would    I    sing? 
His   altered   looks   I    laughing   brave, 

And   could   not   think   of  such   a   thing! 
Like   sentry   at   my   side   he   stood, 

And   all   the   pleasant   chat   is   o'er. 
I   think   Sir   James   is   very   good, 

But  just   a   little   of  a  bore. 
John  took  me   home  grave   as   a  judge ; 

No   word   was   spoken   on   the   way ; 
He   seems   to   owe   me   quite   a   grudge ; 

He's    always    sulky   when   I'm   gay. 

Wrapped   in   a  peignoir   fresh   and  clear, 
I   view  my  face    and   find   it  fair. 

John   enters   then,    and   standing   near 
Watches   me   while   I   brush    my  hah*. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  55 

*  Rose,   do  you   ever  think  at   all  ? ' 

'Oh  yes,'   I   said,   'I   often   do; 
I   think   I'd   like   to   give   a  ball, 

And   not  to   be   reproved  by  you.' 
1  But  do  you   ever  think   of  life, 

How  great  it  is — how  fair  might  be ; 
And  of  the   duties   of  a  wife, 

And  kind   submission   due   to   me?' 

A  troop   of  little   thoughts   like   sighs, 

All   uninvited   fill   my  breast ; 
Sweet   little   thoughts   of  woods   and   skies, 

And  moments  fetterless   and  blest,  j 

'And   do  you  ever  think,'   I   cry, 

'That   duties   also   fall   to  you, 
And   since  you  chose   to  wed   me — why 

You  ought  to  make   me  happy   too  ? ' 

He  viewed  me   sternly  where  he   stood — 
'  Ah,   Rose !  your  life  might  joy   impart, 


56  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

If  you   were  gentle,   kind,    and  good, 
With   woman's   wisdom   in   your   heart.' 

I  twisted  round  each  glossy  curl, 

I  mocked  him  with  my  saucy  eyes  : 

'I'm  not  a  woman,  but  a  girl — 
I'd  rather  far  be  fair  than  wise ! ' 

'  Time   is   so   pitiless,'   he   said ; 

'  Shall  time   be   pitiless   in   vain  ? 
When   youth   is   fled   and   beauty   dead, 

What   will   remain  ? — what   will  remain  ? ' 

Laughing,   I   cried,   '  Ah !   see   the   foal, 

It   scours   the   field,   it  can't  keep  still, 
The   kitten — little  merry   soul — 

For   ever   plays,   for   ever   will ; 
The  horse   is  steady,  and   the   cat 

Is   dull   as  you  can   wish,    I'm   sure ; 
She   sits   all  day  upon   the   mat, 

And   licks  her  paws   and   looks   demure. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  57 

{Oh,    let   me    while   I'm    young   be   gay, 

Just   to    be    happy    never    hurts ; 
When   I    am   old    I'll   sit    all    day, 

And  read  your  books  and  mend  your  shirts ! ' 

I  let  my  golden  hair  run  down, 

And  on  the  ground  its  beauty  trail ; 

And,  as  an  answer  to  his  frown, 

Laughed  at  him  through  the  shining  veil. 

With   angry  grasp   my   arm  he   took — 
His   temper  from   its   bondage   broke. 

'I   will  not   let  you   speak   and  look 

As  but  to-night   you  looked   and  spoke/ 

Strange   shadow  flits   athwart  his   brow, 
Strange   light  makes   glitter  in   his   eyes, 

A   moody   passion   shakes   him    now, 
The   shadow's   gone — the  glitter  dies. 


58  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

His   face   my   spirit   shall  not   daunt, 

I   will  not   let  him   win   the   day, 
So  give   my  voice   a   little   taunt, 

And   smiling   up    at   him,    I    say, 
'You'd   like   to   beat   me.'     'Yes,  I   would,' 

He   cried,    'my    anger   I'd   restrain, 
But   if  I   thought   'twould   do   you   good 

I'd  beat  you  now   and  yet  again ! 
In   marriage   there   are     double   lives, 

Where   each   to   each   must  law   allow; 
Men   have   a   right   to   beat  their   wives 

When   women   break   their   marriage   vow.' 
'/  break   my   vow?'     'Yes,    every   day.' 

He   turned   to   where   I   breathless   sat, 
'You  swore   to   honor  and   obey.' 

<O    dear!'   I    cried,    'who   thinks   of  that? 

'Think  of  it  now  you  must   and   can/ 

And   answer    ere   you    leave    this   place — 
Why   did    you    blush    to    meet    that    man! 
How   dared   you   flirt   before   my   face?' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAATS  JOURNAL.  59 

' What  man?'   asked   I.     He    did  not  stir; 

And    so    I    softly    cried — '  Alack ! 
And   would    you   really,   John,   prefer 

That   I    should    flirt    behind   your   back?' 

He  grasped   my   arm — my   arm   is   small — 

He   left   a  mark — (I   see   it  now) 
And  cried,   '  You   shall   not  flirt   at   all, 

A  glance   may  break   a   marriage  vow ! 
I   ask  you  where  you  met  that  man?' 

How  hard  I   strove   to    get   away! 
Tell   him   the    truth   I    never   can: 

Ah,   foolish  girl !   what  can   I   say  ? 

<I   will   not   speak — ah,   John,   you  hurt — 
Ah,   let  me  go.'     'Then   answer   quick.' 

My  heart  beat  fast — no   longer  pert, 
I   trembled,   wept,   felt  faint   and   sick. 

'Where   did  you  meet  that  man  before?' 
'Ah,   John,   'tis   hard.'     'I   do   not  care, 


60  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

I   will   not  let  you  pass   that  door 

Till  you  have   answered   me,   I   swear/ 

'I  met  him   at   Sir  James's  ball/ 

'Where   else?'     'I   don't  remember— I—' 

'Where   else?'     'Ah,   nowhere   else   at   all.' 
'I   fear'   quoth  he,    'you've   told   a  lie.' 

And   so  he   went! — I   cried   all   night, 
Sitting  defenceless   in   the   cold, 

Crying   with   sorrow   and   affright, 
And   horror   at   the   lie   I'd   told. 

I   meant  no   harm   those  pleasant  days, 
'Twas   the   excitement   led  me   on ; 

I   liked   the   flattery   and  praise, 

Things   that    I    never   get   from    John. 

It  was   so   sweet   to   wander   out, 
And   then   I   was   afraid    to   tell  : 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  61 

If  John  had   let  me   run   about 

And   chatter   it   had   all   been   well  !- 

I  sought  my  bed  with  weeping  eyes, 

When  morning  broke  and  housemaids  stirred 

At  breakfast  time  I  could  not  rise — 
John  left  the  house  without  a  word. 


62  MRS.  JERNINGHAMTS  JOURNAL. 


And   all   that  day   I   stayed  within, 

And   mused   with   horror    on   my   sin; 

And  little   did   I    do   but   cry — 

I   never  thought   I'd   tell   a   lie  ! 

I   felt  relief  in  my   distress, 

When   I   determined   to   confess; 

To   speak  the   truth  to  John   once   more 

Would   bring  a  calm  unknown  before. 

But  then  my  aching  eyes   I   hid, 

Thinking  how  great  his  wrath  would   bej 
I'd  done   all   things   that  he   forbid, 

And  let  a  man  make   love  to  me ! 

Perhaps   he'd  beat   me!   once   again 
I   was   a  child   in  shame   and   fear, 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  63 

I  knew  the  terror   and  the  pain, 

And  thought  John's  hand  would  be   severe. 
I   pushed  my  sleere,   made   bare   the   mark 

That   dumbly  threatened  future   harm  : 
Four  little   shadows — lightly   dark — 

Laid  on   the   whiteness   of  my   arm. 

As   on  my  boudoir   couch   I   lay 
My  thoughts   seemed  melting   quite   away  ; 
Slow   and   more   slow   the   fancies   crept, 
I   shut  my   eyes — I   think   I   slept. 

I    dream   that   I   am   in   a  wood; 

There   is   a  rustling   'mid  the   leaves  : 
A    robin   comes   to   seek   bis   food, 

A   happy  thing  that   never  grieves. 
Is   it   the   color   on   his   breast 

That   makes   a   robin's   heart   so   light  ? 
Or  is   it  that  we   love  him   best 

And   praise   him   when   he's   out   of  sight  ? 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

The   rustling  wakes  me— some   one's   near, 
Whose   eye   my  sleeping  face   regards ; 

I   see   with   quite   a  pang  of  fear 

Captain   Fitzmaurice   of  the   Guards ! 

My  hair  is   hanging   all    astray 

(If  John  had   seen   it,   he'd   complain), 
I   had  been   crying  half  the   day, 

I   felt   I   must  be-  looking  plain ! 
That's   my   first  thought— my   second    is 

I'm   wishing  to  be  good   and   true  : 
John  would   be   quite   enraged   at   this, 

Why  did  he   come  ?— what  shall  1   do? 

He  shakes   my  hand — my  arm   is   bare, 
The   open   sleeve   the   mark   displays, 

He   cries,   '  The   villain  !    did   he   dare  ? ' 
His   lazy   eyes   are   in   a   blaze, 

A   little   kiss   is    on   my   hand, 

I   hang   my   head   and  blush   with   shame, 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  65 

Wishing  to   make  him  understand 

That  John  is   not   so   much  to   blame. 

While   thus   we   stand   the   door's   flung  wide, 
John  enters  with   a   haughty  stride, 
The   rightful   master  of  the   place, 
With  dreadful   anger  in  his   face. 

I   snatched  my  hand   from   Arthur — ran 
To   John;  'I   was   asleep,'   I   cried, 

And  he   looked    at  me   as   he  can 
And   as   no   other   can  beside! 

Coolly   he  turned   to   Arthur   (then 

I   quite   admired   him),  calm   his   tone: 

'There's   some   mistake,   sir — gentlemen 
Don't   call   here   when   my  wife's   alone.' 

On   Arthur's   face   there   broods   a   frown  j 
'A  gentleman   I    think   I'm  styled — 


66  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

Your  wife's   the  prettiest  girl   in   town — 
Are  you   a  man  to   beat  this  child?' 

*/  beat  her?'  John   with   scorn  replied — 

(I   wonder  did   he   recollect 
His   little   lecture  when   he   cried 

Men   should   chastise    and   wives   respect?) 
With   lordly   air   he   paced   the   floor 

And   said,    Til   have   no   words   of  strife, 
Captain    Fitzmaurice — there's   the   door — 

No   man   shall   meddle   with   my   wife.' 

Captain   Fitzmaurice   blushed   at   this, 

And   cried,    '  No   child's   more   innocent, 

And   guileless    as   a   child   she   is,' 

And   then    he   bowed   to   me    and   went. 

I   somehow   felt   quite   proud   of  John, 
I    liked   his   cool,    determined   ways; 

We   were    alone — Fitzmaurice   gone  ; 

John    looked   at   me — I   hid  my   face. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  67 

Now  I   must  speak,   or  not   at   all, 

I   need   not  wait  for  sfrength   to   come, 
So   spoke,   beginning   at  the  ball 

And  ending  with   this   day   at  home  : 
I   told  him   how  I   broke   his   laws, 

And  let  each   day  its   pleasure  bring, 
And  how   I   liked   to   flirt,   because 

I   found   it   such   a   pleasant   thing; 
How  we   had   met   outside   the   door, 

And  how   he   called  upon   me   here, 
And   how   I   tried  to   speak  before, 

And  how   I   lied   to   him   from   fear. 

And  when   I   had   confessed  my   sin, 

I   felt  so   desolate   and  poor, 
And   drew   my   little   shoulders    in, 

Thinking,  '  He'll   beat   me   now,    I'm   sure.' 

He   spoke   no   word,   he   made   no   sign, 

My  breath   came   fast,  my   heart  beat   thick; 
5 


68  MRS.  JERNINGHAZPS  JOURNAL. 

I   thought,    if  this   were   wife    of  mine 

I'd   beat   her   and   forgive   her   quick. 
Slow   speech   at   last — '  You   told   a  lie, 

I   doubt  whate'er   your   tongue   asserts, 
I   have   no   faith   in   falsehood,   I, 

Nor   yet    in   faithless,   fickle   flirts ! ' 
Out  burst  his   wrath :  '  I  gave  you   trust ; 

I   loved — O   God,   I   was   deceived ! 
My   love   is   shattered  in   the   dust : 

Can   I   believe   as   I  believed?' 

Half  fainting   on   the  wall   I   lean, 

I   never   knew  my   heart   so   stirred; 
Oh,   if  each   stroke   had   only  been 

A   blow,   and   not   a  cruel   word ! 
I   cannot   speak,    I   cannot   cry, 

I   am   so   dull   and   turned  to  stone  j 
I   hear   a  sound,   a  step,   and   I 

Am   in  the   chamber   all   alone. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  69 


He  came   not  near  me   all  the   day, 

He   came  not  near   me   all  the   night ; 
I   almost  wept  my  life   away 

In   sorrow,   penitence,   and  fright. 
A  letter's  brought — what  can  it  be? 

A  manly  hand — I   know  it  well, 
He  wrote  two  little  notes  to  me 

When  I  was   only  Rosa  Bell. 

Ah,  were   I   Rosa  Bell   again, 

And  once   again   he   made   me  wife, 
He'd  have  no   reason  to   complain, 

I'd  lead   so   excellent  a  life ! 
Why   is   it   ever  just   too  late, 

When  what  was  living  is   a  ghost 
We   cease   to    quarrel  with  our  fate, 

And  what  is  lost  could  prize  the  most? 


70  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


THE   LETTER. 

'  I  LEAVE  my  home   this  night  for   Spain, 
And   though  for   ever  must  remain 
The   sin,   the  sorrow,   and  the   stain, 
If  time  my  feelings   should  constrain, 
And   take   the   anger  from  the  pain, 
In   time   I   may   return   again.' 

The  letter  fluttered  from  my  hand, 
I   hardly    seemed   to   understand ; 
Startled,   bewildered,   and  confused, 
My  eyes   to   teach  my  brain   refused. 

For   Spain  ? — I   knew  that   sunny  clime 
Some  claim  upon  his  house  could  lay — 

A   trouble   of  the   troubled   time, 
To  vanish   with   a  brighter  day; 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  71 

And  he   had   meant  to  seek  her   skies, 

And   for   a   little   while   remain, 
Just  when  he   first  beheld  my   eyes, 

And  bade  a  blithe  good-bye   to  Spain. 
An   apt  pretence   the   mission   made 

To   leave   the   love   his   lips   disown; 
And   I,   repentant   and   afraid, 

Weep   o'er  that  ruined  love   alone. 


72  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 


That   night   Sir  James  sent  in  his  card, 

Saying  it  was   a  business  call; 
He  bowed   with  such   a   stiff  regard, 

I   trembling  felt  he  knew   of  all  : 
He  told   me   Mr.   Jerningham 

Had   asked   him  to   arrange   affairs, 
'  And   so,'   he   mutter'd,    '  here  I   am/ 

And   ran  his   fingers   through  his  hairs. 

Bending  my  head  I  could  not  speak, 
Trying  to  swallow  down  my  tears, 

Wondering  how  I'd  grown  so  weak — 
A  day  had  done  the  work  of  years ! 

1  While  he's   abroad,  he   settles   it 

That  you   should   sojourn  by  the   sea, 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  73 

With  some   companion,  as   is  fit — 

But  where   and  who  ? — How   shall   it  be  ?  * 

'Whate'er  you  please,'   I   faintly   said, 
Viewing   my   life  with  vacant   stare; 

My  life ! — I   was   already  dead, 

And  might  be  buried   anywhere? 

'So   be  it;    I'll   arrange   it   all, 

And   choose   a  place  that's   free  from   crowd; 
To-morrow,   if  I   may,   I'll   call 

At  half-past  two;'   he   stiffly  bowed. 

My  heart  was   ice,   my  face   was   flames — 
I   said,  c  Oh  won't  you   say   "  good-bye "  ? 

Won't  you   shake   hands   with  me,    Sir  James?' 
And   bitterly   began   to   cry. 

The  kind,   good   creature   seized   my   hand — 
*  Crying,'   he   said,    '  does  good   to   none ; 


74  MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL. 

I'd   really   like   to  understand, 

Poor   little   thing,   what   have  you   done?' 

I   told   him   all,   from   first   to    last — 
So  grave   his   looks   my   tears   fell   fast, 
And   I   accepted   my   disgrace, 
Reading   my  sentence   in  his   face. 

He   whistled  very   soft  and   low, 

And   cried,    '  It   is  a   precious   mess  j 
How   could   you   treat   your   husband    so? 

He'll   not   forgive   you   soon,    I   guess! 
Youth,   beauty,   health,   friends   not   a  few, 

An   easy   income,   pleasant   lot, 
A   noble   fellow  fond   of  you — 

What   could  you   want  you  had   not   got? 
To   shatter   such   a   life   to   bits ! 

And   all   for   what  ? — for   nothing  1   or 
To   let   that  foolish   fellow,  Fitz, 

Say  things   he   should   be   horsewhipped   for! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  75 

'  Pray,   do  you  know   the   use   of  life  ? 

That  no   one's   life   is  his   alone? 
Or  what   it  is   to   be   a  wife 

And   call   a  good   man's  love   your  own? 
And  to  be   trusted  with  a  trust — 

Trusted   and   yet   to   be   untrue; 
To   lay   his   honor   in   the   dust 

And  break  a  heart  that  beats   for  you?7' 

Each  word  he   said   appeared   a   law 

That   if  accepted   might  restore, 
And  each   a  picture   seemed   to   draw 

Of  beauty   never   known  before. 
I   caught   a  glimpse   of  Paradise — 

Of  lovely   order,   pleasure  fit ! 
And  then   I   hid  my  weeping  eyes 

Be:ause    I   was    shut   out   of  it ! 

*  And   such   a  man   as   John— by  Jove, 
A  woman  might   adore   that  man! 


76  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

He   loved  you  with   a  real   love, 

As   only   real   fellows   can! 
How  dared  you  play  with  life   like   that, 

Making   a  trifle   of  a  sin? — 
Child  !   did  you   know   what  you  were   at, 

Or  half  the   danger  you  were   in?' 

4  Danger?      Ah   yes  ! '    I   sadly   cry— 

'I've  lost  my  husband's   love,    'tis  plain, 

And  told  him .  such   a  wicked   lie 
We   never  can   be   friends   again/ 

He   stared   at  me.     'Is  that  the  whole?' — 

While  yet   he   frowned   he   almost  smiled, 
And   softly   said,    '  God   bless   my   soul ! 

How   could   John   marry   such   a   child?' 
And   then,   with   quite   a   tender  look 

(Cause   for  the   change   I   could   not  find), 
He   talked   like   fathers   in   a  book — 

Papa  was   never   half  so   kind. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  77 

'  You  have  been  frivolous   and  vain, 

But   yet   I   think  your   heart   is   good; 
I   think  you   will   not  err   again, 

I   think  you'll   learn  what   women   should  : 
And   so,   for  fear  the  world   should  blame, 

And  mingle  falsehood  with  the   truth, 
I'll  take  you  home   to   Lady   Graeme, 

And  we'll  protect  your  foolish  youth ! ' 


78  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


PART  II. 

THREE   bitter  months  have  passed   away. 

I   could   not — could   not  write   a   line : 
But  in    the   welkin  dim   and  gray 

A  little   star  begins   to   shine. 

A  little   star — though   not   for  me, 
Still   by   its   light   I   wander   on; 

It   was   a   sort  of  joy   to   see 

A  letter   to   Sir  James  from  John! 


Oh,   sort  of  joy,   how   sad   I   ami— 
He  says  he   comes   to-night,   tho'   late. 

And   '  hopes   that  Mrs.   Jerningham 
Will   be   at  home   at  Number  eight.' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  79 

So   I'm  to   live  with  him   again ! — 

It  is  his  will   to   have   it   so ; 
Oh  dreadful  pleasure  I — happy  pain  ! 

Oh  senseless  joy  \ — too   real   woe ! 

I   cross   the   threshold   of  the   door, 

How   sad   I   am — how   changed  is   all ! — 

Am   I   the  girl   who   oft   before 

Ran   up   the  steps   and   through   the  hall? 

If  I    am   not   that   creature   gay, 

I   hope    I'm  something  better   far ; — 
Shine   in   the   welkin   dim    and   gray, 
Though   not  for   me,   my   little   star! 

I   sit  beside   the   silent  fire, 

The  passing   minutes   work    their  will, 
I   have   no   wishes   or   desire, 

I   never  felt    so   very   still. 


8o  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

I   think   I   have   wept    out  my   tears, 
For  future  grief  can   none   allow; 

I've   lost  the   knack   of  hopes   and  fears, 
And   am   a   quiet  woman   now. 

He  likes  a  woman  full  of  grace, 

By  reason's  law  her  heart  to  quell — 

(Why  did  he  like  my  happy  face 
When  I  was  only  Rosa  Bell?) 

I   see   a  girl's   face   in  the   glass, 

All  light  and  shadow,   smiles   and  tears ; 

Alas,   it  is  my  own !    alas  ! 

And   am   I   still   what  that  appears  ? 

He  will   not  like   me !    Ah,   I   thought 

My  heart  had  learned   in   sorrow's   school, 

And,   once   the   teacher,   now   the   taught, 
Had   ruled  my   face   with   iron  rule ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  81 

He  will   not  like   me !    Oh   despair  ! 

To   meet  him  with  such  changeful   eyes? 
Ah !    face   that   I   believed   so   fair, 

Can  you   not  look  a  little  wise  ? 


Alas !    a   distant  sound   I   hear ; 

The   cruel   moments   reel   and  fly; 
It  is  his   step,    and   he   is  here — 

If  I   could  hide   away  and  die! 


I   stood  so   friendless   in  the   room, 

I   felt   so   lonely  and   afar; 
The  house   was  filled   so   full  of  gloom, 

I   could   not  see   my  little   star  ! 

John  entered — shook  me  by  the  hand, 
And   said,   '  How   cold  the   weather  is  ! 

The   train   was   late,   I   understand.' 
This   was   our  meeting — only  this  ! 


82  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

I   said   'the   train   is   always   slow;' 

And   then   I   laughed — indeed   I  did — 

Tho'   what   I    meant   I   do   not   know; 
Nor   how  the   laughter  from   me   slid. 

He   called   it   cold,   and   I  was   hot; 

I   longed   to   look   at   him,   but   feared- 
One   glance   I   gave,    and   saw   he'd  got 

Upon   his   chin   a  great  black   beard. 

I   saw  no  higher — I   was   dumb — 

I   vaguely  wondered,   was  it  he? 
Or  had   some   bearded   Spaniard   come 

To  pass   himself  as   John   on   me? 
I    did   not   dare   to   look   again — 

How   could    I   tell   if  it   was   John? 
Never,   unless   I   looked,   'tis   plain — 

And   so   my   foolish    thought   ran   on  ! 
I   wondered   did   he   glance    at   me  ? 

And    did    he    find    me    beautiful? 


MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL.  83 

And  then   I   poured   him   out  his   tea ; 
And  there   we  sat   so   cold   and   dull. 

*  How  is    Sir  James  ? '    '  He's   very  well.' 
'And   Lady   Graeme?'    '  She's   better  too.' 

'  Has   she   been   ill  ? '    'I   cannot  tell— 
O   yes — I   mean — she   did — you   knew.' 

And  then   I   stopped   and  turned  from  John — 

And   colored   up   and  bit   my  lips, 
And   played   a  little  tune   upon 

The   table   with   my  finger  tips. 
John   gazed   intently   in   his   cup, 

And   spoke   with   kindness   in   his   tone  : 
(Why   did  my   heart   at  once   freeze   up, 

And   wish  he'd   left  me   quite   alone?) 
'  They  have  been    good   to  you  ? '    '  Oh  yes, 

Sir   James   is    all  that's   good   and  kind, 
And   Lady   Graeme — I   like   her  less; 

But  she   is   pleasant   and   refined.' 
6 


84  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

I  spoke   with   fluency   and   ease, 

I  felt   provoked — I    know   not  why ; 
John   stirred  his   tea   and   crossed   his   knees, 

And   did   not   make   the   least   reply. 
And   then   I   wished   I   had   not  spoke, 

And   wondered   what   would   happen   next. 
And  then  the   clock  gave   forth   its  stroke. 

'Twas   twelve— he   rose — and   I   was    vexed. 
'Good   night,'   he   said.    'Good   night,'    said   I — 

(How   could   we   hope   for   a   good   night  ?) 
He   left  me — I   sat   down   to   cry, 

And  of  his   face   I'd   had  no   sight ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  85 


At  breakfast  it  was  just  the  same, 

But   I   looked   at  him,   bolder  grown — 
One   little   look — when,   full   of  shame, 

I   met  his   eyes,    and   dropped   my  own : 
His   face   was   stern   and   resolute, 

His   mouth  was   hard   as   cut   in   steel ; 
Cold  were   his   eyes,   yet   from   them  shoot 

Looks   that  my  very   soul   must   feel. 
He   is   my  husband — once   he   loved ; 

His  heart  was  mine,   and  might  be   still : 
It  was   my   hand,   his  hand   removed, 

That  would  have  sheltered  me   from   ill; 
I   asked   my  heart — could  his  be   stirred, 

That   love   once   slighted   to   restore  ? 
And  still   my  heart   replied   one  word, 

And   still   that  word  was   Nevermore ! 


86  MRS.  JERNINGHAATS  JOURNAL. 

And   when   the   clock  was   striking   ten, 

He   rose — I   felt   a   dreamlike   fear; 
O   most  precise   of  business   men — 

He's  gone — but  was  he  ever  here? 
Is  it   a   dream  ?   am   I   alive  ? 

Has   life   begun   again  for  us  ? 
And  can  I   live — howe'er   I   strive, 

In  such   a   dreadful   fashion  thus  ? 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  87 


Through   all   that   night   I   had  not   slept : 

In   cushion'd   chair   I   languid   lay, 
Nor  knew  that   slumber   softly   stepped, 

And   drew   the   outer   world    away ; 
And  when  the   twilight's   tender  gloom 

Gave   shadows   like   primeval   trees, 
I   felt  the   sounds   within   the   room, 

And   then   I   felt  the   sounds   were   these. 

*  She   was   a  welcome   guest,   you   know — ' 
'  Your  kindness  will   be   ne'er   forgot — ' 

1  And   she's   a   charming   creature,   tho' 

She   has   her  faults — and   who   has   not  ? ' 

'Your  pardon — tho'   our   friendly   lives 

Have   known   each   other  long — what  then? 


88  MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL. 

Men   do   not   talk   about  their   wives, 

And   their   wives'   faults   with   other   men.' 

'  Tut  tut — your  words   I   shall   not  heed ; 

My  love   of  chat  you   will   not  balk : 
John,    I    must   speak — I   must   indeed ; 

Be   a  good   fellow — let   me   talk : 
I    lectur'd   her    too — on   my   life, 

She    took   it   sweetly — ne'er  forgot : 
And  John,   altho'   she   is  your  wife, 

I   was   her  friend   when   you  were   not ! ' 

*I    acted   for   the   best,    Sir  James, 

And   think   I    did   extremely   right — 

Pray  have   you   seen   the   members'   names 
Who   voted   for   the    Church   last   night?' 

1  Confound   the   Church  ! — you   needn't  frown  ; 

I   say   you   were   too   hard   with   her  ; 
You   should   have   let  her  see   the   town, 

And   shop,    and   dance,   as.  girls   prefer. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  89 

'  Your  wife's   a  beauty—others   see, 

And   tell   her — and   she   knows   'tis   true. 
John,   if  you'll   be   advised  by  me, 

You'll   let   her   hear  the   same   from   you. 
With   rosy   cheeks   and   shining   curls 

You  fell   in   love — for   all   your   nous  : 
Men   should   not   marry   little   girls, 

Who   want   old  women   in  the   house  ! ' 

'  Sir  James,   when   I   require   advice, 

I'll   ask  for   it,   as   custom   is — 
Pardon   me,    I   may  be   too   nice, 

But   I'm   a   trifle   tired   of  this.' 
1  I'll   do   my   duty — say   my   say — 

We   had  her   for   three   months   with  us. 
She's   young   and   skittish — fond   of  play — 

A  •  little   vain   and   frivolous — 
Most   women   are — shall   men   condemn? 

Let  us   be   wise   and   reason   thus — 
We'd   better  make   the   best   of  them, 

As — bless   their   hearts — they   do   of  us  ! 


90  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL, 

I 


Don't   leave   your   wife   too   much   alone ; 

Just  to   amuse   and   please   her   try. 
John,   you've   a   temper   of  your   own  ; 

Don't   frighten   her,    and   make   her   cry! 
She's   a  fine   creature — good    at  heart, 

Without   a   particle   of  vice  ; 
And   if  she    shies   or   tries   to    start, 

Don't  pull   the   curb — that's   my  advice  ! ' 


' Advice   not   asked   for   nor   required; 

Thank  you — I'll   manage    as   before  ; 
I   think   I'm  just   a    little    tired  ; 

Sir  James,   excuse   me,   there's   the   door ! ' 


1  With    all   my  heart,   and   welcome   too ! 

From   no    man's   house    I'm    turned   out   twice ; 
You   managed    nicely — didn't   you  ? 

You   stuck-up   fellows   scorn   advice  ! ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMTS  JOURNAL.  91 

The   door  was   slammed,   and   all   was   still — 
John   stood   erect — I   feared  him   most ; 

But  left   my   chair  against  my   will, 
.And  glided   forward   like   a  ghost. 

John  started — '  Yott  V   ' 1   was   asleep  ; ' 
Ah,   once  before   those   words   I    said ! 

Strange   memories   through  my   bosom    creep  : 
John   feels   them   too — his   cheek  is  red — 

*I   heard   a   little — he   meant  well — 
I'm  sorry  you  have   quarrelled — he 

Was   kinder   than   my   words   can   tell ; 
And   all   my  faults   he   told   to   me.' 

'You   did  not   like   to   hear  your   faults,' 

Said  John,    'you   thought   the   thing  ill-bred.' 

'I'm — altered — now,'  with   little   halts, 

The   words   came   out — and   they   are   said  ! 


92  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

He   looked   at  me   with  steady   look, 
And   then  as   steadily   replied, 

'I'm  glad  to   hear   it '—took   a  book- 
Lighted   the   lamp   and   read— I   sighed! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  93 


A  little   week  has   crept   away, 

We   live   together — John   and   I — 

Just   in   the   same   too  dreadful   way — 
But  I   feel   ill— I   hope   I'll   die! 


Would  he  be   sorry  if  I   died? 

Ah,   yes — for   once   he   loved   me   weft  ; 
Ah,   yes — for  once   he   did   not   chide, 

When   I   was   only   Rosa   Bell ! 

Those  happy   days   would   come  again, 
He  would   forget   my   foolish  sin, 

Forget   the   sorrow    and   the   pain — 

The   dead   such   sweet   remembrance   win. 


94  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

Would  he   plant   flowers   on   my  grave  ? 

His   tears   upon   the   blossoms   fall  ? 
And   wear   the  golden   ring  he  gave? 

Alas !   my  ringer   is   so   small  ! 

He'd   say,    'She   was   so  young  and  fair, 
She   was   so   gay   and   fond   of  life;' 

And   then   he'd  kiss  the   bit   of  hair 

Cut  from   the   head   of  his   dead  wife. 

I   think   it   would   be   sweet  to   die, 
If  held   in   memory   so   fair; 

I'd   like   within   my  grave   to   lie, 

'Neath   little  buds   he  planted   there. 

I'd  like   to   live   within   his   breast, 

And  feel,   as   years   their  softness   shed, 

That   all   his   anger  is   at   rest — 

I   know  he'll   love   me   when    I'm  dead! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  95 

Ah !   shall   I   lie   remember'd   thus, 

If  death's   cold  hand   shall   draw  me  hence  : 
Or — will   he   call   me   '  frivolous,' 

And  wed  a  woman   full   of  sense  ? 

I  hate   that  woman — well   I   know 

The   sort  of  things   she'll   say   and  do ; 

I   don't  believe   he'll   like   her,  tho'  j 
Women   like   her   are   liked  by  few. 

Ah  !   once   he   lov'd   me — now   forgot, 
The  passion  that  his   heart   did  move, 

And  when  he   lov'd — I   lov'd  him   not — 
And  now  he  loves   me   not — I   love  1 


96  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


Last  night   I   told   him  Mrs.    Grey 

Invited   me   to   drive   with   her, 
And    said   she'd   call  on    Saturday — 

'What   should   I   do?'    'What  you   prefer.' 
'I'd   like   to  go   with  her.'     'Then   go — 

My  wish  to   interfere   is   gone, 
Unless   for  something  that   I  know 

'Tis  better  you   should   leave   alone.' 

I   clasped   my  hands — I  stood   upright — 
Whence   courage   came   I  never   knew — 

'John,   I   am   anxious   to   do  right, 
And  to   obey  your  wishes   too.' 

The  speech  is   made !    what  will   he   say  ? 
Will   he   my  penitence   disdain? 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  97 

0  how   I   longed   to   run   away, 
Or   be  my  naughty   self  again ! 

1  thought  his  voice   was   grave   and  sad 

(Why  should  he  grieve  at  such   a  plan?), 
As  he   replied,   'I'm   very  glad, 
And   I   will   help  you   if  I   can.' 

Then  it  was   over — there  we  sat 

Without   a  word   to   say   at   all ! 
I,   working   stitches  on  my   mat, 

He,   staring   at  the   painted  wall. 
But  mine   is   not   a  silent  tongue, 

Its  words   are  wing'd  for  sudden  flight; 
I  often  chatter  when  it's  wrong, 

And  can't  keep   silence  when  it's   right. 
And   so  I   cried,    '  O   if  you   will 

I'll   find  it  easy  to   be  good : 
There's   such   a  charm  in   doing  ill, 

It  cannot  always  be  withstood ! ' 


98  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

'You   think  so?'   I   had  meant   no   harm 
And  found  his   satire   hard   to   bear 

'Such   women  somehow  find   a  charm 
In  all   that's   excellent   and   fair.' 


'Well— say   I   am   not  one   of  these,' 
And   from   his   tone   my   tone   I   took, 

'Some  women  find  it   hard  to  please, 
And   some— give   pleasure  by   a  look!' 


I  looked  at  him— Ah   foolish  girl, 

Whose   vanity   no   slighting   brooks, 
'  Before   a   swine   don't   cast  your   pearl : ' 

Said   he,    '  I   do   not  care   for   looks ! 
You  heard   that  foolish  fellow   Grseme 

Tell  me   to  praise  your  air   and  grace; 
But  faith   I   won't!   it  is   a   shame 

To  praise   a  woman   to   her  face ! ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  99 

'  I   do   not  care   for  praise,'    I  cry, 

1 1   wonder   if  you're  saying  sooth  ? ' 
A  quick   repentance   fires  his   eye ; 

He   had   not   meant   to    taunt   my   truth. 
My   ready   blushes   point  the    sting. 

I   ply   my   needle  very   fast  ; 
O   when   will    memory  cease   to    bring 

These   bitter  voices   from   the   past  ? 


He   spoke — his   tone   was   soft   and   low, 
His  words   I  never   can   forget. 

*  You  told  me   the  whole  truth,    I   know, 

That  morning — when — when  last  we  met1 

*  I    did,'    I   whispered,  { and   I    meant 

To  tell   it  had   you   not   come   in, 
For   I  was   really   penitent, 

Determined   to   confess   my   sin. 
I   did   not  only   speak   because — 

Because — '    I   stammered — thought  of  Fitz — 
7 


ioo  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

1  Did   you  believe  me   then  ? ' — a   pause — 
'Well — no — or  only   little   bits — 

When  I   came  home   I  was   more   wise, 
A   moment   did   my   soul   convince, 

For   then — I   looked   into   your   eyes, 
And  have  believed  you   ever  since ! ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  101 


My  heart  is   lighter  in   my  breast, 

A   little   lighter— ah   not  much! 
I   think   some   pain  has   been   carest, 

And   laid   asleep  by   tender   touch. 
I   think  a   terror   is   forgot — • 

A   bitter  voice   has   ceased   to  speak, 
A   tiny  hope  where   hope   was   not 

Is   shining  like    a  glowworm   meek. 

Our  hearts   are   drawn   a   little  near, 

Our   words   come   forth   a   little   free, 
I   feel    for   him   a   shade   less   fear, 
And  he   a  shade  less   wrath  for  me. 

He   knows   I'm  wishing  for  the   light, 

He   knows   I   know  he   knows   I'm   true, 


102  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

He   knows   his  hand   can  guide   me   right, 
I   know   he   knows  I   know    it   too  ! 

And  through   it   all   one   little  gleam 

Shines   likes   a  dawn  where  suns   might  rise- 

0  did  I   hear   it   in    a   dream, 

Or   did  he   really  praise   my   eyes  ? 

1  care   not   if  'tis   good   or   wise, 

But   I   my   sweetest   comfort   take, 
Because   he   looked   into   my   eyes, 

And   has   believed  me   for  their   sake. 

And   in   my  heart  he   fixed   a   sting, 
That  lurks   in  its   remoter  nooks, 

Vexing  me   more   than   anything — 

He  said  he   did  not  care  for  looks ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  103 


Another  ball  !     He   took  me   there, 

He  knew   I'd   keep   his   waltzing   laws 
I   put   some   lilies   in   my   hair, 

And  wore   a   dress   of  shining  gauze. 
I'm   growing   very   old    and   wise, 

My   vanity   is   gone,    I    see — 
I   only   care   to   please  his  eyes, 

And   that   is   not   from   vanity ! 

We   enter — people   turn  to   gaze, 
And  utter   little   sounds   of  praise  : 
Sw^ct   sounds   to   please   a   lover's   ear 
(Alas,   how   sweet  to   be   so   dear !) 
I   feel   the   blushes   on  my   cheek — 

I   glance   at   him   subdued   and   shy — 
O   silent   face   that   will   not   speak, 

Impenetrable   lip   and   eye  ! 


104  MRS-  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

A   dozen   partners    claim   my   hand, 
I   yield   to   each   polite   command  ; 
I    dance    quadrilles,    to   waltz    I   long, 
But   pleasant   things    are    always    wrong ! 
That   lovely   whirling   through   the   air, 

That   tuneful   racing   with   the   feet, 
I   hold   a   thing   divinely   fair, 

What   other  exercise    so   sweet  ? 
Three   times    I    danced   with    Captain   Groom, 

A   pleasant   partner,    gay   and   nice, 
He   took  me   to   the   supper   room, 

And   brought   me   little   cakes   and   ice. 
A   feathered   fan   I've   left   behind, 

He   flies   for   it,    my   loss   confest, 
Myself  quite   by   myself  I    find, 

The   happy   waltz   detains   the  rest. 


Rose   of  the  world  ! '    a  voice   I   hear — 
I    turn — I   start — I    almost   scream — 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  10: 

Fitzmaurice   whispers   in   my   ear, 

And  takes   my  hand — is   it   a   dream  ? 

Too   startled   to  be   dignified, 
Or  show   a  particle   of  sense, 

I  just  looked   at  him  and   I   cried, 
*  O   don't ! '    my   folly  was   immense  ! 

'O   don't?      O   do — '   he   said   and   smiled, 

His   lazy   eyes   are   strangely  bright, 
'O   Rose   that  hast  my  heart  beguiled, 

Be  just   a   little   kind   to-night. 
He   shall   not  hurt  you — trust  to   me — 

I'll   save   you   from   that  wicked   John, 
To-morrow   may   I   hope  to   see 

A   lovely   Rose   in   Kensington  ? ' 

He   smiled  with   that  bewitching   air, 
He   murmured   in   that  coaxing   tone, 

And   still  his   eyes   pronounced  me   fair, 
As   if  the  world  held   me   alone. 


106  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

I   scorned   her  then,   as   women   can, 

A   creature   vain   and   frivolous, 
Whose   folly  had   allowed   this   man 

A   sort   of  right   to   treat   her   thus  : 
John's   wife  !    my   eyes   were  opened   wide, 

For   I   had   loved   since   last  he  smiled, 
And    felt   why   good    Sir   James  had   cried, 

'  How   could   John   marry   such   a   child ! ' 
I   had  no    heart   to   censure    Fitz, 

The   fault   was   mine,    and   the   disgrace. 
I   tore   my  bouquet   into   bits, 

And   looked  my   folly  in   the   face. 


I   scorn   myself— not  him    I  scorn, 

But   left   his   side   with   footstep   quick. 

He   cried,    'Ah,    do   not   show   a   thorn, 
Sweet    little   roses   must   not   prick ' ; 

I   sought   the   ball-room—he    pursued, 
Crying,    'O   blossom    fair   and    false, 


MRS.  JE'RNINGHAMTS  JOURNAL.  107 

Come  back   to   me,   my  pretty  prude ; 

I    know   you'll    not   refuse   to  valse ! ' 
His    arm    about   my   waist   he    slid, 

Trying   to  lead   me   to   the    dance. 
'And   if  the  husband  has  forbid, 

Why,   we'll   evade   the   husband's   glance.' 

Is   this   the  man  whose  words   could   charm  ? 

While   yet  he   tries   to   lead   me   on 
I   glide   from   his   insulting   arm, 

And   walk   across   the   room   to   John! 
Touching  him   shyly   with   my   hand, 

Losing  the   shame   I   can't   endure, 
Close   to   my   husband's   side    I    stand — 

I   feel   protected  and  secure  ! 

Ah,   if  his   noble   eyes   have   seen, 
His   noble   spirit   felt  the   scorn — 

Will   righteous   anger   come   between? 

And   kind   protection   be   withdrawn? — 


io8  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

But   while   a  hundred  light   alarms 

Whisper   their   little   thoughts   of  gloom, 
Sudden   he   clasps   me   in   his   arms 

And  waltzes  with   me   round  the   room ! 

That  John   could  waltz   I  never  knew, 

I'd   never   seen   him   dance   at   all, 
As   round    and   round   we   gaily  flew, 

I   think   it   an  enchanting  ball ! — 
I   feel   the   pressure   of  his   arm, 

My   happy   hair   has   touched   his   breast, 
The   dance   has   won   a  hidden   charm ; 

I   could   have   died,   I  was   so  blest! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  109 


I   felt   extremely   shy  next   day 

(Shyness   is   something   new  to   me), 
I    thought   I'd   like   to   run   away, 

And   never   could   pour  out   the   tea! 
I   blushed  when  we   good   morning   said 

(And  yet   I   tried   so   calm   to   seem), 
Blushed   when  he   handed   me   the   bread, 

And  when  he   asked   me   for  the   cream. 

But   John — alas!   he   was   so   cold, 

And   on   his   forehead  was   a  frown  j 

He   was   the   very  John   of  old, 

The  John  who   snubbed   and  kept  me   down ! 

I   grew   indignant ;   then  I   felt 
No   sweet  permission   to   rebel, 


no  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

Tried   to   forget   he   would   not   melt, 
Tried   to   believe   that   all   was   well. 


'Twas   nearly  ten — he   was   not  kind — 

He'd  go,   and   never   raise   his   eyes ! 
I   flung   discretion   to   the   wind 

(Alas,    I   never   shall   be   wise ! ) — 
'  Does    dancing   disagree   with   you  ? ' 

I    asked   with  my   demurest    air; 
Ah,   then   he   raised  his   eyes,    'tis   true, 

And   colored   to  the   very   hair, 
And   in  his   eyes   I   something  saw — 

Something   I   had   not   learned   a  bit, 
I    could   not   learn   it   then   for   awe, 

But   think   some   day    I'll   fathom   it. 
'Tis  gone — instead,   an   angry  gloom, 

A   darkness   like    a   thunder-cloud ; 
Anger,   but   why?  at   what?   for   whom? 

I   never   saw  him    look   so   proud ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL.  in 

With   sudden  gesture   up   he   rose, 

His   hasty   steps   the  chamber  pace, 
Our  glances   meet,   and   I   suppose 

He   read   my   wonder   in  my   face. 

'  There  is   a   question   in   your  eyes,' 

He  said,   '  in   which   I   bear   a  part; 
The    answer   in   a   region   lies 

That  never   can   invade  your  heart. 
There   is   a  life  you  cannot  live, 

A  joy   that   could  for  all   atone, 
There   is   a   death   that  life   can   give, 

And   still   that   death  must  be  my  ownl 
I   see  your  heart  is   pure  and  good, 

I   see  your  rectitude   and   strength; 
Ah,   had   I   sooner  understood — 

Too   late  the  lesson's  learned   at  length?' 

Transfixed   I   sat— what   can   it  be?— 

When   almost  grasped  it   slips   and  goes; 


112  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 

'  Ah,   speak   of  something  else ! '   cried  he  • 
'  That  man — did   he   insult  you,  Rose  ? ' 

Softly   I   murmured,    looking   down, 

'I   blame  myself.'     'Not   him   you   blame? 
How  kind  your  judgment !  '     Did  he   frown  ? 

I   raised  my   eyes— he   blushed   for   shame. 
'Ah,   pardon   me!'   he   said,   'for   that;' 

He   stamped— with   rage   I   think— but   why? 
Turned   roughly   from   me,   seized   his   hat, 

And  slammed  the   door— and  here   am   I! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  113 


John  has  been  dreadful   since  that  day, 

Few  are  the  words  he  speaks,   and  these 
He  says  in   such   a  settled  way 

I   never  can  feel   quite   at  ease ! 
And  often,   as   I   work   or   read, 

Or  play,   or   sing,   my   eyes    I   raise, 
And  he   drops   his — but   that  indeed 

Shows   that  on   me  his   eyes  did  gaze. 
He  has   no   taste  for  pretty  girls, 

He   is  in  love  with    solemn  books, 
He   told  me   not  to   cast   my   pearls 

To   swine — he  does   not  care   for  looks ! 
Then   why  does   he   look   at  me  ?  why  ? — 

I   think  of  this   so   ceaselessly ; 
I   fear   some   day  my   tongue   will   cry, 

*  Ah,   John,   why  do  you  look  at  me  ? ' 


ii4  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 


He   lets   me   drive   or  walk   each  day. 

Walking,   a  servant  must   attend; 
And,    driving,   for   a   brougham   he'll   pay, 

Or   I    take   airings   with   a   friend. 
He's   very   careful   in   the   choice 

Of  my   associates.     Hardly  he 
Allows   me   the   least  bit   of  voice — 

I   like   him   to   take   care   of  me! 
We  go   to   operas   and  plays, 

To   balls   and  parties,   now   and   then, 
But  John's   forgot   his   dancing   days, 

He's   never   waltzed   with   me   again; 
And   in   the   mornings  I   am   good, 

I   read   the   books   he   said   were   right — 
And   sometimes   they  are   understood, 

And   sometimes   they   confuse   me   quite. 


MRS.  JERNINGHA&TS  JOURNAL.  115 

I  practise  for  two  hours   a  day — 

No  march  or  song  that  fashion  brings, 

But  with   approving  conscience   play 
Sonatas   and   such  horrid   things. 

But  ne'er   at  night  he   questions   me 
About  the  books,   as  once  he   would, 

Or  bid  me  play   a  symphony — 

So  where's   the  use  of  being  good? 
8 


n6  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 


I   drove   to   Mudie's,    and   I  brought 

A   carriage-full   of  steady  books ; 
Til    tell   him   about   these/   I   thought, 

And  see   how  pleased   my  master   looks : 
He   will   not   ask   me  what   I   do, 

So    I'll  take  courage,    and   converse; 
I   don't  talk  very  well,   'tis   true, 

But   I've  known   women   do   it  worse. 

1  O,   John  !  '    I   cried,   '  my   studies   see — 

Science,   philosophy — that's   best ! — 
And — what's   the   horrid  word?    dear  me! — 

Theology   and   all   the   rest ! — 
Here's   "  Ecce   Homo"— take   a  look— 

A   serious   thing,   and  yet  so  light ; 
Colenso   on   the   Pentateuch, 

A  Bishop,   John,   so  he's   all   right  1 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  117 

"Maurice   on   Future  Punishment" — 

That's   nice,    and    proves    there's   none,   you 

know — 
And   "  Darwin   on   Development  " — 

That's   charming,   and   amused   me   so — 
And   here's   a  poem   full   of  force — 

Swinburne,   a   Cambridge   man,  you  see, 
That  won't  be   very  deep,   of  course, 

But   surely  deep   enough  for  me ! ' 


John   looked   a  little  pale,   I   thought, 

And   said,  his   voice   a  little  low, 
'  Pray,   have   you   read  them  ? ' — that   I   ought 

He   meant — I   bravely  answered   *  No  ; 
I've   only  glanced   at   them   as  yet, 

They're   long,   you   see,   and   I   preferred 
To  study   them   and   not  forget — 

I   mean   to   read  them,   every  word ! ' 


ii8  MRS.  JERNINGHAhPS  JOURNAL. 

Paper   and   string  he    slowly   took, 

Tied   up   my   books    in   parcel    neat, 
Directed   them,  with   steady   look, 

To   Mr.    Mudie,    Oxford   Street. 
Then   rang  the   bell— the   man   addrest, 

'Take   this,'   he   said,   in   icy   tone, 
Drew   a   deep   breath  like   one   opprest, 

And   cried,    'I'm   glad,  the  poison's  gone!' 

But   when   he   saw   my  frightened   stare, 
He   smiled,    and   all   his   looks   unfroze, 

Close   to   my   own  he   drew  his   chair, 

And   said,    'I'll   choose  your   books,  dear 
Rose ! ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL.  119 


PART  III. 

THE  senseless   sun  rose  just  the   same, 
Proud   to   be  bright  where   all   is   dim, 

And   set  the   Eastern   sky   aflame, 

And  made   the   earth  look  up   at  him. 

The   selfish  birds   sang  just  as   loud, 
With  rapture   in   their  roundelaye ; 

And   in  the   streets   the   foolish   crowd 
Flock   as   on   any   other  day. 

How  could  I  tell   that  joy  was   not? 

That  death  was  knocking   at  the   door? 
Or   that  the   arrow   had  been   shot 

To   pierce   my  heart — untouched  before? 


120  MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL. 

Or  guess  whose   voice   will   speak  my  doom, 

Or  what  the   words  that  must  be  said, 

When   I   am    singing   in   my   room, 

And  they   shall   tell   me,    '  John  is  dead ! 

1  He   is   not   dead  ! '    I   calmly   said, 
And   stepped   into   the  busy   street, 

Only  my   curls   upon  my  head, 
And  little   slippers   on  my  feet. 

*  He  is  not  dead ! '  I  cried,  and  walked 
Where  streams  of  eager  creatures  led; 

And  when  the  people  stared  and  talked, 
I  smiled,  and  cried,  '  He  is  not  dead ! ' 

Men  carry  SOMETHING  in  their  arms, 
Some  lifeless  thing  that  hangs  about; 

And  mutter  words  like  little  charms, 
Reluctant  to  be  spoken  out. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  121 

They  bear   that   Something   'neath   the   skies, 
And  up   the   stairs,   and   to   my   bed ; 

And  then   I   stare  with  helpless   eyes, 

And   scream,   and   cry,   'He   is   not   dead!' 

Men   come   and   gather   round  him   then, 
To   grasp  his   wrist   and   feel   his   head, 

And   nod,   and   look   at  other  men, 

Who   nod,   and   answer,    '  He   is   dead ! ' 


They   try   to   take   me   unaware, 

And   make   me   leave   him   on   the  bed, 
Buf   still   I   cry — now   like   a  prayer — 

'  He   is   not   dead !   he   is   not   dead ! ' 

Some   one   who  by  the   pillow   stood 
Made   bare  his   arm   and   held   it   so, 

Till   little    drops   of  ruddy   blood 

Fell   trickling   down   so   soft  and   slow. 


122  MRS.  JERNINGHAATS  JOURNAL. 

A  tiny   stream  flows   by  and   by ; 

How  silent  everything   has   grown! 

A  little   breath — a  little   sigh — 

And   then   a  very  little  moan. 

'Life  is   not  quite   extinct,'   they  said; 

1  God  in  his   mercy  may  restore  : ' 
And  then   I   shriek,   '  He's   dead!   he's   dead!' 

And   stagger  senseless   on  the  floor. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  123 


I  wake   and  cry,   '  I   must  get  up, 

John   will   be   coming  in   to   dine ! ' 
Upon  my   lips   they  press   a  cup, 

I   taste   it,   drink  it — it   is  wine. 
(I   think  they   drugged   the   draught   they  gave 

To   dull  the   anguish   in   my  breast ; 
I   think   'twas   drawn   from   Lethe's   wave 

To   lull  my  breaking  heart  to  rest.) 


124  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


I   wake   again ;  the   dying  day 

Makes   little   spangles   on   the   wall, 

And   as   the   spangles   twitch   away, 
I   watch,   but  cannot   think   at   all. 

Why  am   I  here?   why  have   I   slept? 

Why   am   I   drest   and   on   a  bed? — 
Then   back   the   dreadful   terror   swept, 

Back  in  one   moment, — John  is  dead ! 

Along  the  passages   I   creep, 

With   some   strange   fancy  shaped   like   this, 
Suppose   the   dead   man   is   asleep 

And   I   may  wake   him   with   a  kiss. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL.  125 

Into   the   chamber   where  he   lay 

I    enter   like    a   guilty   thing ; 
With   hushing   signs   they   cheer   my   way 

And  point,   and   make   a   whispering. 

I   trace  his  figure   in  the   bed, 

With   lines   that  do   not   speak  of  death ; 
But,   ah,   I   fear  his  face  is   dead, 

Its   ghastly  whiteness   stops   my  breath ! 

'  He   lives  ! '   they  whisper,   *  and   may  live ; ' 
They   let  me   kneel   beside   him   there : 

And   then   I   pray,    and   try   to   give 

Some   thanks,   and   make  it  like  a  pray'r. 

• 

I   think  my  life   has   gone   to   sleep, 

And  in   a   dream   I   move   and   act — 

Why   should   I   break  my  heart   and   weep 
For   what   is   not   a   real   fact  ? 


126  MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL. 

By   day   and   night   the   feeling  stays, 
It  is   a   stunned,   resistless   rest, 

It  keeps   with   me   through   nights   and   days, 
While  still   he   lies   in   trance   opprest. 

Is  it  because  his   soul   is   laid 

In  deepest  trance   that  mine   is   such  ? 

A  strange  rapport  between   us   made 
Because   I   love  so  very  much  ? 

I   know   not   if  'tis   so   or   not, 

I   only   know  'tis   like   a   dream — 

There's   nothing  that  I   have  forgot, 
And  nothing  like   itself  doth   seem. 

They   say   the   child   had   fallen  prone, 
He   caught   it   ere   the   horses   slid, 

And  took  the    danger   for  his   own ; 
I   but   reply,   'Of  course   he   did.' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  127 

They  say  the   child's   uninjured,   or 

But  lightly   touched;    at  that  I   stare, 

And  cry,    'That's  what  he   did   it  for, 

Of  course   the   child's   not  hurt   a  hair ! ' 


And  still   the   days   and   nights   pass   on, 
And  suns   and  moons   illume   the   skies, 

And  still   I   sit   and   watch  by  John, 
And  still   in   quiet  trance  he   lies. 


128  MAS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


Sudden,   another  epoch  springs, 

The  first  has   lived   its   life   and  goes, 

And   now  he  raves   of  many   things, 
And   who   I   am   he   never  knows. 

O  wond'rous  arrows  (taking  flight 

From  aimless  hands),  that  find  a  mark, 

O  words  that  are  so  full  of  light, 

Though  they  are  spoken  in  the  dark! 

And  to  myself  he  talks  of  me, 

And  knows  not  that  myself  am  I  ! 

His  sentences  set  sorrows  free, 

That  spread  their  little  wings  and  fly. 


MRSi  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  129 


Again   I   saw  his  ghastly  eyes, 

O   they  were   full   of  fear  and  pain, 

As   beckoning  in   a   secret  wise, 

He   said,   'Hush,   hush — don't  tell  again.' 

And   there   was   something   awful   in 
That   secret   air   so   wild   and   weak, 

You   might  have   sworn   some   dreadful   sin 
Lay   deeper  than  his   tongue   could  speak. 

But  all   the  words   he   ever  said, 

After  this   mystery  was   made, 
Were,   '  Can   she   love   me   now   I'm   dead, 

Who   when    I   lived   was   too   afraid?' 


130  MRS.  JERNINGHAWS  JOURNAL. 

And  then  he  cried  in  wailing  tone, 
His  poor  hand  making  piteous  sign, 

Four  little  words — four  words  alone 

That  went  straight  from  his  heart  to  mine. 

'  She   cannot  love   me ! '   that  was  all — 
'  She   cannot  love   me  ! '   so   it  ran — 

My  eyes   let  tears   in  rivers   fall, 

And  still   I   cried,   '  She   can— she  can  1 » 

He  loves  me — I   am   sure   of  it! 

And   doubts   my  love— ah !    foolish  John, 
Ah !    foolish  John,   when   it  is   writ 

My   eyes   within— my  lips  upon. 


How  can  life  look  a  little  bright, 
Ere  death  has  promised  to  forget? 

How  can  my  cruel  heart  be  light, 

When  they  may  snatch  him  from  me  yet? 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  131 


1  I'm   in   Heaven,  am   I   not? 

You   are   an   angel  with  her  eyes ! 
And  you've   her  little   dimple   got, 

That  used  to  gladden   and   surprise ; 
'Twas  just   before   she   laughed   it  came, 

I've   often  watched  it   dimpling  in, 
Yes — there  it  is — and  quite  the   same. 

I'm  glad  youVe  got  her  pretty  chin — 
Poor   lovely  child  ! — she's   dead,   you  know ; 

I  killed  her  though  I   loved  her  well, 
I   killed  her,   I   ill-used   her   so, 

I   think  I'll  have   to  go   to  hell.' 

And  then  he  slept — as   if,   alas! 

The  thought  of  hell  could   soothe   and  bless, 
And   I   ran  peeping  to   the  glass 

My  little   dimple  to   caress. 


132  MRS.  JERNINGHAJWS  JOURNAL. 


1  Ah !   doctor,   he   is   calmer   now, 
His   pulse   is   lower,   is   it  not? 

The   lines   are   lighter   on   his   brow  ? 
I'm  sure   his   hand   is   not   so   hot? 

The   doctor  has   a   dreadful   face, 

Its   muscles   cannot  move,   I   know, 
'Tis  always   calm   and  full   of  grace, 

And   always  grave — I   hate   it  so  ! 
And  when   I   say  that  John   seems   eased, 

And   little  joyful   symptoms   tell, 
He   never   is   more   bright   and  pleased, 

And   never  says  that  he'll   get  well ! 
If  grief  shall   pass   and   I   could  live 

A   hundred  years   of  happy   space, 
With   every  joy  that  life   can  give 

I'll  ne'er  forget  that  doctor's  face  1 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  133 

With  such   a   question  in   my   tone 

I   asked,   'When   fever's   power   is   seen 
The   thoughts   they   speak  are   all   their  own — 

They  say   the  very  things   they  mean  ? ' 
He   rubbed  his   hands   and   shook   his   head, 

And   murmured   (how  my  hate  increased!) 
'In   fever   usually  is   said 

The  very  things   they   mean  the   least  1 ' 


134  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


How  many  nights   I   sat  and   saw 

The   sun   drop   lightly  from   the   sky, 
And   then   my  heart   dropped   down   with   awe, 

Is  that  the   way   that  people   die  ? 
As   thought  with   thought  became   entwined 

I   scarcely  dared   to   draw   my  breath, 
For   still   to   my   affrighted   mind 

Each   summer  sunset   seemed   a   death ; 
And  yet  to   look   I   had  no   choice, 

So   there   I   sat   one   evening  bright, 
When   John   said   in   a  pleasant  voice, 

*  How  red   the   sunset  is   to-night ! ' 

A  blow  was   stricken   through   my  brain 
That   tingled   to   my  finger  ends, 


MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL.  135 

The   swift   delight   was   like   a  pain — 
So   keenly  joy  with   sorrow  blends  j 

And  while   my  every  fibre   shook, 

I   said   in   tone   sustained   and   low — 

Like   some  one  reading  from  a  book — 
*  I   never   saw   a  brighter   glow.' 

And   then   with   manner   calm   and  wise 

I  held  his   medicine   to   his   lips, 
Looking   down   deep   into   his   eyes 

To   see   his   soul  without  eclipse. 
And  there   I   saw   it  safe   and  free, 

Restored   to   reason's   lovely   sway — 
And  that  dear    soul   looked   up   at   me 

With  love   unfathomed  in  its   ray. 


136  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 


The  doctor  comes — I  fly  to  him, 

And   murmur  words   so   sweet   and   few — 

He  peers   above   his  glasses'   brim, 

And   nods,    and   says,   '  Ah-ha,   he'll   do ! ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  137 


Ah,   happy  moments,   pause  and   stay, 

You   surely   like  to   be   so   fair — 
Ah,   linger   too   delightful   day 

Whose   every    minute   is   a  prayer ! 
Why   should   I    live   for   more    than    this  ? 

Life   can   bestow   no   brighter   gem, 
Since   on  his   lips   I've   laid   a  kiss, 

And  stolen  one   away  from   them! 
I'll   hardly   let   him   move   or   speak — 

I'm  just   as   stern  as   I   can   be — 
He   is   so   very   wan   and  weak — 

And  I'm   so  gay   and   strong,   you   see. 


138  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

Yet   once   he   said   with   sad  surprise 
(So   I'm   not   blooming,  I   suppose), 

'Where   did  you   get   those   wistful   eyes, 
And  pallid  cheeks,  poor,   pretty   Rose  ? ' 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  139 


I   think   that   life's   in   love   with   him — 

She   is   so   eager   to   restore, 
She   will   not  let  his  eyes   be   dim, 

Remembering  how   they   shone   before — 
She's   like   an   artist   prone   to   stand, 

Bewitched  her   fav'rite   work   above, 
Bestowing  with   delighted   hand 

The   little   charms   that   spring   from   love; 
'Tis   sweet   to   see   each   tender   touch — 

Fresh   tiny   tints    and   sparkles  bright, 
While   every   day  he   gains   so   much, 

That  every   day   is   marked   with  white. 

He   laughs,  my   gay   delight  to   see  ; 

Laughs   at   my  face   of  cloudless   bliss : 


i4o  MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL. 

And  when  he   laughs  it   seems   to  me, 
Heaven   can   have   no  joy   like   this! 

And   in   the  twilight   of  the   day — 

The  happy   day  that   promised   more — 

He   held  my  hands  and   said  his  say: 
None    said   so   sweet   a   say  before ! 


I  learned  how  deep   his   love   had  been  : 

Poor   love — by   folly   kept   at   bay; 
And  how   his   heart   had  crowned  me   queen ; 

Poor    queen — who  flung  her   crown   away. 
How   wrath   and   love   may   be   the   same, 

And   wrath  be  hard    and    love  be  shy ; 
And   as   I   learned   I   blushed   with  shame 

At   such   a   shallow   thing   as   1 1 
Dead   fell   repentance,   fear,   and   strife, 

Lost  in   a    Heaven    of  delight — 
To   be   a   loved   and   loving  wife : 

Measureless   rapture — height  of  height ! 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  141 

0  !   John,   this   sick   room   life   is   sweet, 

Don't  get  too   well  as   days  unfold — 

1  can't  sit   smiling  at  your   feet, 

When   in  your  bank   you   count  your  gold! 


142  MRS.  JERNINGHA1WS  JOURNAL. 


Here   comes   Sir  James— the   door-bell  rang; 

Ah,   John,   you  are   not  mine    alone; 
I  feel   a   little  jealous   pang 

That   all   your   words    are   not   my   own. 

They  meet  in   manner   somewhat  proud, 

Yet   hands   are   grasped   with   gesture  true; 

I'm   glad    that  passing  thunder-cloud 
Has   left  the   sky   of  friendship   blue! 

John,   leaning   in    his   easy   chair, 
Looks   like  a   hero  in   distress — 

He   has   a   something  in  his   air 

That   thrills  me   with   its   nobleness. 


MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL.  143 

I   never   saw   a   man   like   John, 

Whose   every  touch  can  beauty  make, 

The   ground   his   footstep  rests   upon 
Is   dearer   for   that   footstep's  sake. 

Very  tall   men   are   worse   than   small — 
They   straggle,   and   are   helpless   quite, 

Six  feet  is   certainly  too    tall, 

For  five   feet   ten's   the   perfect   height. 

As   for  his   nose,   I'll   never   seek 

To   change   the   one   ordained  by   fate — 

Why   should   a   nose   be  like   a  beak? 

Sure   Grecian   statues   have  theirs   straight. 


144  MRS.  JERNINGHAMS  JOURNAL. 


Sir  James   smiles  on  me   as  he   goes, 

And   says,   'I   think   the   wrong's   come  right, 
For,   though  your  cheek  has   lost   its   rose, 

I   fancy   that  your   heart  is   light.' 
The   glance   I  -gave   is   quenched   in   tears, 

In  happy  tears   that   sprang   and   shone, 
I'd   not   a  bit  of  room  for  fears, 

I   was   made   up   of  hopes   alone  1 

He   cried,  'The   fight  might  frighten   some, 
/  thought  that   love   would   win    the   day; 

Be   a  wise  woman — stay   at   home 
And  learn   your   lesson — to   obey  ! ' 

He  went;    John's   arms   are   round   me   now, 
The   blissful   moments   speed   away, 


MRS.  JERNINGHAM^S  JOURNAL.  145 

And   with   a   kiss   that   seemed   a  vow, 
He   murmured,    'We   will   both   obey! 

For   I   am   thine   and   thou   art  mine, 
And   trust  is   true   and   faith   is   fond. 

0  fairest  face  !    O   face   divine ! 
Beloved   a   lover's   love   beyond ! ' 

1  was   so   full   of  happy   care, 

And   so   wrapped   up   in   John,   you   know, 
I   had  forgotten   I   was   fair, 

And   wondered  when  he  told  me  sol 


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